


What Holds Us Up

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Case Fic, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Post Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when John Winchester suddenly comes back to life, and meets the boys as they are today?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the amazing and wonderful [Peri](http://anobviousaside.tumblr.com). [Art Masterpost](http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/64711382657/the-amazing-wonderful-talented-anobviousaside%22)
> 
> I have the best betas in the world. [Lis](http://clotpoleofthelord.tumblr.com), [Ten](http://colonialdncr.tumblr.com) & [Lily](http://drownedinblissfulconfusion.tumblr.com), I couldn't have done this without you!
> 
> Downloadable PDFs available:  
> [Computer Version](http://www.mediafire.com/download/3velglbqcqrqd4w/What+Holds+Us+Up+by+deanhugchester+%28computer+version%29.pdf)  
> [e-Reader Version](http://www.mediafire.com/download/5e79ehdfhdcod74/What+Holds+Us+Up+by+deanhugchester+%28e-reader+version%29.pdf)

 

Just a normal Saturday night for them - an easy salt and burn and then a greasy spoon with possibly the best peach pie Dean's had. Ever.

They're laughing about something, probably a lame joke Dean's just told, and even Cas smiles into his mug, when Sam's face goes pale and he drops his fork with a clatter. Dean looks in the direction of Sam's stare and sucks in a breath.

Standing next to the booth is none other than John Winchester.

"Hello boys," he says, and it's his voice, rumbling up from his chest, the right side of his lips raised in a half smile. His eyes are bright with unshed tears as he takes in the sight of his sons clearly healthy, and maybe happy, if the laughter he'd heard as he walked up is any indication.

What he's not expecting is the look that Dean tosses the odd man in the trench coat sitting in the booth next to the older Winchester son. Before Dean says anything to John, before he makes any move out of the booth, he turns to the third man.

"Cas?" Dean says, and the man turns shockingly blue eyes toward John and just tilts his head slightly. John feels a frisson of something - he can't quite figure out what - but it trails across his skin lightly, and then the man turns his attention back to Dean.

He nods at Dean, and says, "It's him." the voice is a surprise, deep and powerful, like stone, much bigger than one would expect from such a slim form.

The tension fades just a touch from both Dean and Sam's shoulders, shocking John, because they should know better. He taught them better than that, but before he can say anything, Dean's up and throwing a couple of bills down on the table. The three young men stalk out of the diner. At the door, Dean realizes that John hasn't yet followed and turns back. "You coming?" And then Dean pushes through the door and into the parking lot, leaving John no alternative but to follow.

The three of them are already in the car by the time John gets out to the parking lot, and the guy in the trench coat - Cas - sits in the backseat behind Dean looking for all the world as if he belongs there. John notes how relaxed the boys are around this guy, how the three of them fit together like a puzzle, and once again, John's wondering who the hell this guy is. Because the level of trust he sees there between this Cas and his boys - he's only really seen it between Sam and Dean. This new person in their lives has slotted himself in with the two brothers and made himself a part of their family.

John's irritated by it, but doesn't know why.

He slides into the backseat behind Sam, next to Cas, and jerks his thumb at trench coat guy - Cas - and says, "Who the hell is this guy?"

Both Dean and Sam tense up, the muscles in their necks going taut. Cas opens his mouth, but it's Dean who turns around and gives John a steely look before saying, "That guy is Cas, Dad. Cas, this is my dad - John." Even though the introduction is unnecessary.

Cas murmurs a greeting and Dean turns back around, starting the car. The Impala rumbles to life and John is pleased to hear the car is in such good shape, although the engine sounds different, a slightly higher pitch. Dean's eyes flicker to his in the rearview mirror and he notes his father's expression.

"Yeah - I've had to rebuild her, what, twice now?" Dean says in answer to John's unasked question.

Sam thinks for a moment, but it's Cas who answers. "Three times." Again, the voice is a surprise, but John zeroes in on the information in the answer.

"Three times?!" John asks. "What've you been doing to her?"

Sam huffs a sigh and turns around to face John. "It's a really long story, Dad. Look, it's gonna have to wait. Let's just... Let's just get back to the bunker and..."

John holds up a hand. "Woah, woah, woah. The bunker? What are you talking about? I need information, dammit!" he snaps at them, not caring that the stranger in the car might be judging him for his temper. There's so much unanswered, so much he doesn't understand, and on top of that, his boys have just taken his reappearance as par for the course, like this kind of stuff happens to them every day. "And how come you haven't tested me? No holy water, no silver? You boys slipping and getting lazy? I taught you better than that." His temper has frayed, snapped, really, and he can't keep a hold on it any more.

Neither, apparently, can Dean, who yanks the steering wheel and pulls over to the side of the road. He glares at John. "We don't need to test you. If Cas says it's you, then it's you."

John scoffs. "How could he possibly know?"

Cas smiles then, and says, "I am an angel."

"An angel," John says flatly. He looks at his sons, expecting to see the skepticism he's feeling mirrored on their faces. It isn't. They're looking at him matter-of-factly, as if this is everyday information. "You're an angel," John repeats.

Cas nods. "I am an angel of the Lord. Castiel, angel of Thursday."

"There's no such thing," John blurts, and he sees Dean snort.

"Sorry, Dad. Angels, yep. The whole nine yards. Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Lucifer." There's a look of distaste on his face, and Sam sucks in a breath when Dean mentions Lucifer. "All real, Dad. All dicks, too." Cas makes a small sound of protest. "Well, not Cas here, of course. Look, there's a lot to tell you. Just... just wait, okay? It'll be easier at the bunker, unless --" Here Dean turns to Sam. "You think maybe we should go somewhere else first just in case he's... well, I don't know - working with - for - someone?"

"Probably a good idea. Where, though?" Sam replies.

"Roadhouse?" John suggests.

Dean shakes his head. "Destroyed about five years ago."

John winces. "Ellen? Jo?"

Cas looks uncomfortable at this. "They died."

"Bobby?" John asks. Dean and Sam just sigh, two loud and long exhales that indicate how much they've lost in the years since John died. It occurs to John that they could be really alone in the world, that it's just the two of them - although now they seem to be three. John takes a moment to think about the fact that he's lost these people as well, and he's mildly surprised by the ache he feels in his chest. He's been gone for so long that he would have thought that he wouldn’t feel the loss, but his sudden reappearance hasn’t left any of his old pain behind.

Dean shakes his head, but it's Sam who says quietly, "Jody's." Dean just nods and puts the Impala back into gear. He turns the car around and heads back in the direction they came from.

"Might want to call ahead," Dean says. "Give her a little warning this time."

Sam chuckles softly. "Yeah, good call."

 

They arrive at Jody's around two in the morning, all of them sleepy and bleary-eyed except for Cas. Interrogating John on the way to Jody's had netted them almost no information about John, or why he was back. He seemed to have just appeared in the parking lot, not far from the Impala.

"That's how I knew you were there," John had said. They're cranky and frustrated with each other, and grateful to be out of the confines of the car, which had seemed to grow smaller the longer they were in it together.

Jody scowls at them from the doorway of her house as they tromp up the steps.

"You boys better have a damn good reason for being here in the middle of the night." She's wearing grey sweatpants and blue t-shirt, her arms folded across her chest.

Dean presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "Sorry, Jody. But yeah. Sam will explain. Want me to check the wards?"

Jody's face softens at Dean's apology, and she hugs him briefly before turning to Cas and folding him into her arms as well. "Hey Cas," she says, and her voice is fond. Cas returns the hug before stepping away. Jody hugs Sam last, a more lingering one, and she smiles up at the man who towers over her, despite the fact that she's fairly tall herself. Dean and Cas go into the house, leaving Jody, Sam, and John on the porch.

"Who's your friend, Sam?" Jody asks.

"Sheriff Jody Mills, this is our dad, John Winchester." Sam's emphasis on her title is not lost on either John or Jody, who arches a curious eyebrow at Sam, but merely grasps John's outstretched hand in her own. Her handshake is firm and warm, indicating an underlying strength and confidence that comes from dealing with too much bullshit from men who underestimate her because of her gender.

"I thought your dad was dead, Sam," and her tone is sharp and wary.

Sam nods. "So did we. Cas says it's him, though."

Jody takes in this information. "Well, thanks so much for bringin' him to my place then."

Sam shrugs. "I know. Sorry, but we don't have a lot of options."

Jody flaps her hand in dismissal and leads them into her house. Dean and Cas are by the entrance, heads tilted together in some kind of intense conversation. Dean shifts warily when he sees John come in, but he returns his attention to the angel after a moment.

Jody takes control of the situation like a general, ordering them all to bed despite protests from all parties except for Cas. Jody stands in the center of the room, hands on her hips and just waits out the arguments.

Finally, when it's clear they're not going to change her mind, they all surrender with as much tact and grace as can be expected. Sam is the first one to cave.

"I'll get Dad settled. Dean, you and Cas can..." he trails off as Dean nods. Jody begins pulling out pillows and blankets and sheets, which she piles into Sam and Dean's hands.

"You know where everything is," she says. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Come on, Dad," Sam says as he leads the way upstairs. Dean and Cas head down into the basement.

 

Dean takes his time making the bed in the basement while Cas double-checks the wards down there. He knows Sam and Dean had set them up, and he nods approvingly. He notices that some of the sigils are drawn in another hand, one he doesn't recognize. He runs a finger over one. "Who did this one?" he asks in a murmur. Dean comes up behind Cas, wraps his arms around the angel and looks over his shoulder.

"Bobby," he says. There's a wistful tone there, but not necessarily a sad one. Cas brushes a finger along the inside of Dean's wrist in a wordless expression of shared sorrow.

"Come on, let's get some sleep," Dean says. He rifles through the duffle and tosses a t-shirt and sleep pants at Cas, pulling out another set for himself. They change in silence and clamber into bed.

Dean lays his head on Cas's chest, and Cas pulls him closer, wrapping an arm around Dean. They lie quietly for a moment before Dean leans up to kiss the angel. It's a soft, needy thing, a desire for comfort and love rather than a desire for something more physical, and Cas cups Dean's face in his palms and gives Dean what he needs. Dean pulls away after a few moments, and they settle back down into prone positions.

"There's going to be so much to tell him, Cas. I don't..." Dean lightly runs his palm up and down Cas's chest. "I don't know how we're going to tell him all of it."

Cas threads his fingers through Dean's hair. "You'll manage. You always do."

"Why is he back, though?" Dean asks. He tries not to make his voice sound as plaintive as he’s feeling. He’s thrown off balance and he really hates it.

Cas inhales. "I don't know. I would have to ask around. That would mean leaving. What do you want?"

Dean lifts his head to look at Cas, his expression solemn. "Stay?" and it shouldn't feel as weighty as it does. It's not that kind of conversation, not really, but it's there in the subtext, and Dean thinks maybe this is the only way he can say it and mean it. When it's not overtly about the other thing, the thing he wants so badly he aches with it; maybe this is how he can ask for what he wants.

Cas senses what Dean is saying, asking, and kisses Dean before answering. "Always."

Satisfied, Dean returns his head to Cas's chest and wraps his arms and legs tightly around the angel. Cas squeezes back, and they drift off to sleep like that, warm and comfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

They wake the next morning to heavy footsteps above them, Sam thudding about in the kitchen. Dean squints up at the ceiling, thinking uncharitable thoughts about his gigantor little brother. Cas mumbles something and rolls over, nuzzling his face into Dean's neck, and Dean settles back into the bed, tightening his arms around Cas.

Until he remembers why they're in a bedroom in a basement - they're at Jody's, and somewhere in the house is John Winchester, who is no doubt champing at the bit for information. Dean groans and scrubs his free hand across his face.

Cas is having none of it, and he grumbles this time. "Too early."

Dean huffs in laughter - once Cas started actually sleeping, he took to it like a duck to water. He slept long and he slept deeply. Dean didn't mind it most of the time because he loved being cocooned in Cas's arms and loved the feeling of warmth and safety he felt there. Staying wrapped up together in the mornings, ignoring Sam's remarks from outside their door was often a favorite part of Dean's day.

But not today. He couldn't stay in bed with Cas, not when John would probably come storming in at any moment demanding answers.

There were some things Dean wanted to keep for himself, just a little while longer.

He presses a kiss to Cas's forehead. "Come on, Cas. We gotta get up." More grumbling from Cas, who actually tightens his grip on Dean. "Cas, sweetheart, we have to get up. Remember, my dad's upstairs." Dean tries pushing Cas off of him, but that's an exercise in futility. Cas is an angel - he doesn’t let go of anything he doesn’t want to.

"Dean, too comfortable," Cas mumbles, and okay, point. Dean is comfortable, and yeah, he would love to stay right there for as long as possible, but really, this was not the best of times for this.

"Cas, seriously." Dean sighs. "If you don't get up, I'm going to have to do something drastic."

Cas opens one eye. "Like what?" he asks, suspicious.

Dean thinks for a minute. "Withhold blow jobs."

Cas's other eye opens. "You wouldn't."

"You don't know that." Although Dean really, really hopes he never has to actually follow through on this threat because - well, it's Cas, and Dean loves the sounds Cas makes when Dean's mouth is wrapped around –

"Okay, okay." Cas sits up and rubs his eyes. He looks really cross, and Dean can't tell if it's because he actually has to get up or because of Dean's threat. Cas clambers out of bed, but then leans over, pushing into Dean's personal space so close that their noses are almost touching. "Just remember - two can play this game, and I'm an angel. I have infinitely more patience than you do." His voice is a low rumble that travels down Dean's spine and settles in his belly. Dean swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Cas kisses him lightly on the corner of his mouth to soften the blow of his remark.

"Right," he says, hoarsely. He sits, stunned for a moment, and then shakes himself and manages to get out of bed too. They pull on some clothes and head upstairs, drawn by the scent of coffee and the sound of voices in the kitchen.

John and Sam are seated at Jody's small oval kitchen table, nursing cups of coffee. John looks up and grins. "I was just saying to Sam that I should go down and wake you. Getting lazy in your old age, huh?"

Dean just smiles and skirts around the table to pour two cups of coffee, one for him and one for Cas. He hands the mug over and takes a sip of his own, enjoying the strong brew. He makes a face at Sam over the lip of his mug and behind John's back. Sam just shrugs, the barest of movements.

Dean and Cas join Sam and John at the table and they sit quietly, enjoying the coffee. It's not quite a comfortable silence; Sam and Dean are on tenterhooks, waiting for John's interrogation to start, and Cas, picking up on the tension from the brothers sits mildly between them, creating a barrier of calm. Dean recognizes the practiced look on Cas's face, the one that looks as if Cas is a million miles away, but really means that Cas is taking in every piece of information he can and storing it away for later.

John finally breaks the silence with an irritated cough. "Are you boys gonna start talking, or what?"

Sam and Dean eye each other, and there's an epic stare-off between the two of them as they silently argue over who's going to start the story off. Finally, Sam sighs loudly and takes it upon himself to start the story.

They work their way through the tale slowly, meandering around details and memories that they haven't talked about or even touched for years. It's difficult, and there are patches where neither brother can really say anything at all, and they sit in shocked silence until someone is able to pick up the narrative again.

John's eyes widen as he listens to horror after horror; a story of sacrifice and pain, death and resurrection. His jaw drops open when he hears about Dean's crossroads deal, but Dean’s threatening look stops John from speaking.

Jody, who had left early that morning for a shift down at the station, returns for lunch, and they stop the story then. It's not a great place to break – Sam’s just finished up telling John about the hellhounds and the price of Dean’s crossroads deal, and though Dean is there in the flesh, obviously not dead, the end of that particular tale is left open.

John gets up about halfway through lunch and dashes up the stairs to the bathroom. The sounds of retching can be heard, and Sam and Dean just stare at the table, unable to say anything. Cas leans over and whispers something in Dean's ear, kissing him on the temple and pulling away just before John re-enters the kitchen. He pushes away his half-empty plate of food and just stares at his sons.

John sits and contemplates his sons and the third man - the angel - whose presence hasn't quite been explained yet. What he knows is that, so far, both of his sons have died - one of them over a hundred times, and that his eldest son had gone to hell.

He'd had his own experience with hell, so he's afraid to ask - what happened to Dean down there? What had his stay been like? How long had he been down there? How did he get out? How did he adjust after? How?

Cas picks up the narrative here - telling the story of how he found Dean in hell, how he battled past tens, hundreds, thousands of demons, how they grabbed onto his wings, dug their claws in, burned away the feathers and how it took years –

"Years?" John interrupts, but he stops himself by holding up a hand and gesturing for Cas to continue. Of course it was years - it had to have been decades, as it had been for him.

Cas continues. His eyes flick to Dean before he launches into a description of seeing Dean’s soul for the first time, how it shone so brightly it was blinding, how when he hovered over it –

"Cas," Dean interrupts this time, and there's a pink tinge crawling its way up Dean's neck. His voice is rough, and he has to clear his throat before he can go on. "You don't have to..."

"Dean," Cas says. He knows that Dean wants to keep their relationship to himself, at least for the time being, so it's all Cas can do not to lean forward and kiss the frown from Dean's brow, cup his hands around Dean's face and worship him with his mouth, put into action the words that Dean refuses to hear.

Sam clears his throat loudly and returns to the story when it's clear that Cas isn't going to continue. John watches the angel and his oldest son carefully, because he understands why the angel is there, why there is so much trust between the three men. But he feels like there is still something missing, something that they haven't told him.

"There's something else," John says. Dean's brow creases, and he looks at Cas, and then at Sam, licking his lips.

But it's Sam who speaks. "Dad?"

"Why'd the angels save you, Dean?"

For some reason, Dean looks relieved at the question, and that's just weird. John can't figure that one out _at all_.

"We're getting there, Dad. It's... complicated," Dean answers, and Sam snorts and Cas smiles at Dean's understatement. As the story unfolds, John reflects on how whenever he thinks that Sam and Dean's (and Cas's, he needs to remember that) story has hit the bottom, that Fate, life, what have you, makes it worse. Much worse.

"An apocalypse?" John blurts.

" _The_ Apocalypse," Cas corrects quietly. John nods in acknowledgement. "Your sons are heroes, Mr. Winchester," Cas says, and the deep voice holds an emotion that John can't quite identify.

"Well, that I knew," John says. Sam and Dean look startled at this admission. Of course - he's never told them that, never really let them know how proud of them he is, not really. Maybe once, certainly not twice, and as he sees how uncomfortable they both look, he vows to find a way to tell them every day in some way.

"Cas," Dean says. "We _started_ the apocalypse."

“Dean. _I_ was the one who..." Sam begins, but Dean claps his hand down on the table. The resulting report echoes through Jody's kitchen and causes them all to jump, except for Cas, who looks at once serene and vigilant, if such a thing were possible.

"It was a team effort, Sam," Dean says fiercely. "We've been over this." There's some more in the way of staring and bitch facing at each other until they come to a silent agreement and Sam backs down. Sam shoves back his chair though.

"I'm gonna..." and he points outside to Jody's backyard, where the tire swing she and her husband had hung for their son Owen still sways lightly in the breeze. Dean nods, understanding that Sam doesn't really want to be around for the whole "addicted to demon blood" part of the story, which Dean powers through as best he can, with some input from Cas.

The story is like a rock rolling down a mountain, gathering speed as it goes. Dean wants to get the thing over with, and John can't really blame him. Especially when Dean gets to the part about Adam.

John stares down at his hands, unable to meet his sons' eyes (Sam had rejoined them at some point), unable to come up with any valid explanation for his behavior, other than the fact that he hadn't wanted to drag Kate and Adam into their lives - that they weren't suited to the lifestyle.

Dean, who had been getting increasingly agitated as the morning wore on, explodes up out of his chair at this, and John has never, ever been so grateful that his oldest son is currently unarmed. Dean's jaw is set, the muscle twitching in his cheek and his fists are clenched. "What about us, then, huh? You wanted to protect Adam from this life, but you dragged me and Sammy through it from one place to another! When Sammy wanted to play soccer, he couldn't! When he wanted to be in the science fair, he couldn't! When I wanted..." he breaks off, and takes a deep breath. "We never had a choice. We never had a childhood, and I can't but think that none of this _shit_ would have happened if you hadn't..." Dean's voice shakes. Cas puts his hand on Dean's forearm, but Dean shakes it off with a muttered, "Don't," and it's his turn to leave the kitchen for the backyard. The screen door bangs shut and rebounds twice from the force that Dean used to open it. Cas shoots a cryptic look at Sam and follows Dean into the backyard.

Dean's sitting on a bench at the side of the house, the spot shaded and mostly protected from the prying eyes of neighbors and occupants of the house alike. He's bent over, head in his hands, shoulders trembling.

Cas kneels in front of him and takes Dean's hands in his, bringing them to his lips and kissing them. Dean huffs a sound that is part laugh, part sob, and puts his hand on the nape of Cas's neck, pulling the angel toward him until they can rest their foreheads together. His eyes are closed, and he breathes deeply in an attempt to calm down. They sit like that for several long minutes.

"I had no idea I was still so angry," Dean says finally, and he leans back on the bench. Cas settles beside him, still holding one of Dean's hands, their fingers threaded together. Cas wisely doesn't say anything, opting to wait Dean out.

"When we met Adam," Dean says, and he licks his lips. "I was..." Dean takes a breath. "Adam had birthdays. Dad was... Dad was a _Dad_ to Adam." Dean makes another laughing-sobbing sound. "He was a drill sergeant to us. To me." Dean looks at Cas then, green eyes watery with unshed tears. "Why is he back, Cas? What's going on here?"

Cas shakes his head. "I don't know. Perhaps he has something he needs to finish. I can go and find out, but..."

"I asked you to stay," Dean says. "Selfish."

Cas laughs. "If it's any consolation, I was hoping you'd ask me to stay. Selfish of me too."

Dean smiles at Cas, his insides warm at the words uttered by the angel. "What a pair we are."

Cas pulls Dean closer and kisses him, lips soft and tender, tongue running lightly over Dean's. It's unhurried and languid, the kind of kiss that Dean loves, especially on lazy mornings when they can lie in bed facing each other, wrapped up in each other's arms. When it’s an intimate space they've created just for the two of them.

They're interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat behind them. Dean jerks back from Cas, but it's Sam, who tilts his head back toward the house. "Dad's gonna come looking for you in a minute. Told him I'd bring you back in."

Dean stands and scrubs his hand over his face, wiping away the tears and reddening his entire face in the process. Cas stands too, and grabs Dean's hand to kiss it. "I'll go and see what I can find out about your father. I'll be back by dinner." He leans in and presses another kiss to Dean's mouth, loathe to leave. "Promise."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam and Dean re-enter the kitchen and find John still at the table with his head in his hands. He lifts it as soon as he hears their footsteps on the threshold and gives them a watery smile.

Sam and Dean settle back into their seats, backs stiff and eyes wary, treating John like a viper about to strike. All three men are at a loss for words, all that has been said warring with all that hasn’t yet and still needs to be.

Eventually, John clears his throat. “Where’s the – where’s Cas?”

It’s Sam who answers. “Gone to figure out where you came from.”

“Will he come back?”

The look Dean gives John is hard and unreadable. “He always does.” The rebuke is there just beneath the surface, and John tries not to flinch. Instead, he observes his oldest son carefully.

Most of the pretty has gone from Dean’s face, replaced by straight up handsome. Dean has always had delicate features: wide eyes, long lashes and full lips, and John knows other hunters used to give Dean a hard time about it. Dean always held his own, though, showing his competence with a good deal more braggadocio than was entirely necessary, in John’s eyes. Whatever others had thrown at Dean, he’d handled, throwing winks and grins at any girl within a fifty mile radius.

That younger, more brash Dean was gone now, it seemed, replaced by this older, harder Dean, one who seemed to have a permanent frown carved between his brows. He carried himself differently too, more confident in his stride, sitting at ease (despite the tension in the room) in the Mills woman’s kitchen like it's a place he spends a lot of his time. He fits in the room, somehow, like he belongs there, elbows on the kitchen table, chatting with his brother and the sheriff.

Sam, if anything, is even more at home in the kitchen, his long frame fitting comfortably on the sturdy chair. His hair is long - too long - flopping forward into his face, which has filled out, all traces of childhood gone. He’s wearing a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up, baring large, muscled forearms. But his eyes seem impossibly old, and his shoulders carry the burden of something John can't identify.

His sons are grown men, men who have seen and done things that most people only had nightmares about.

Finally, John can’t stand the silence, the tension crackling in the air, and he decides to ask about Cas and how he fits in with the boys. Something flickers across Dean’s face at John’s question, and he and Sam exchange a glance that John can’t interpret. It’s been nearly a decade since he died, a decade during which Sam and Dean were together, developing an unspoken language, a code, just for the two of them. John can no longer read their body language or decipher the looks he’d easily been able to when they were teenagers. He doesn’t know what to do with that. Should he be proud of the relationship they’ve built? Jealous of how close they’ve always been? Concerned that they so obviously still depend on each other?

“Cas is...” Sam begins, but Dean interrupts.

“Cas is family, Dad.” The statement is final, as if Dean’s not prepared to say anything more on the matter. John recognizes the steel of Mary’s voice beneath Dean’s words. He’s knocked breathless as he sees, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, the overwhelming resemblance between his eldest son and his deceased wife. Those moments of clarity he’d had when Dean and Sam were growing up, when John had recognized Mary in Dean had always been so painful, almost like losing Mary all over again. Those powerful moments were always prelude to a long, hard drinking binge where John lost hours, sometimes even days. He’d wake to Dean’s concerned eyes peering into his own, and John could never shake the feeling that Mary was there too, arms folded across her chest, glaring at him with disappointment clouding her eyes.

John waits though, to see if Dean will give him any more information to work with, but it’s clear that Dean considers the subject closed. John’s dying to know the rest of the story, and is about to ask what happened next, when Jody comes home.

She stands in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on her hips, eyeing the three men. “Have you even moved?”

Sam smiles. “Not really, no.”

Jody snorts. “Well, get out of my kitchen. Get some air, go for a walk. Hell, Dean, show your dad the engine of the Impala or something.”

They get up and head out of the kitchen. Jody catches her fingers on one of Sam’s belt loops. “Not you.”

Dean winks at Sam and leads John out of the house. Sam and Jody stand next to each other for a long moment, and then Jody holds her arms out to him. She folds Sam into her tight embrace and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“That bad?” she asks softly, running her hand through his hair, his ridiculous, long hair.

“Worse. But also better.” His voice is muffled.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. Too much talking today.” He pulls away and kisses Jody, and then laughs ruefully. “Dean won’t believe I just said that.”

“Dean say anything about Cas?”

Sam shakes his head. “Doubt he will before we know why Dad’s back. Even though it’s him, we still don’t know...” Sam runs down, sighing as if the conversation was taking too much effort.

Jody looks hesitant, chewing on her lower lip as she looks up at Sam. He brushes his thumb across her chin. “What is it?”

She shakes her head, but says, “You guys need to be careful.”

Sam laughs softly. “We try to be.”

“No, Sam, I mean it. I mean be careful about getting too attached to having your dad back. It can’t be for forever.” She looks down at her hand, clasped in his, and he squeezes. “It’s so easy to feel like some wrong’s been put right when a loved one comes back, but... Oh Sam, I don’t want you guys to have to go through what I did.”

Sam wraps his arms around her tightly, and pulls her close. He kisses the top of her head, and says, “I’m so sorry,” because he can’t really give her any assurances about it either way, and he can’t undo what happened to her husband and son.

She sighs heavily, letting her head rest on his chest for a moment, and then says, “Come on, help me make dinner.”

"So," John says, hovering over the Impala's engine. "Sam and the sheriff, huh?"

Dean scrubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. They're good together."

"She's older than he is," John observes as he fingers a bolt.

Dean snorts, because Cas is more than just a little older than Dean is. "Doesn't seem to matter to them." Dean knows he's being terse, and he knows it's probably driving John crazy, but he really doesn't want to discuss Sam's love life with his dad. If for no other reason than the fact that Jody would kick his ass.

John grunts, keeping his attention focused on the engine. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Dean asks.

"Got some pretty girl waiting for you back at the... What'd you guys call it? The bunker?"

"No."

John pulls out from under the hood to look at Dean. "No?"

"Nope."

John leers. "Still stringin' 'em along? Always knew you were a heartbreaker. Tell me you haven't left a trail of rugrats across the country."

Dean grimaces, trying not to think about Ben. Lisa had said Ben wasn't his, and Dean believed her. But he'd come to think of Ben as his kid, and the place where Dean stuffed those memories away was still raw. Ironic given that he'd robbed Lisa and Ben of their memories of him.

"Dean?" John asks, and Dean shakes his head.

"Yeah." He slams the hood shut and hands John a rag. "I mean no, no kids."

"So girls? Any of 'em waiting for your call?" John presses.

"Nope," Dean says, pushing past John into the house. It's not a conversation he wants to have with John, not yet, and not without Cas. And as long as John's asking about girls specifically, it's not lying. Not really. Dean's just not going to correct the false assumption.

John follows Dean up the steps. "Dean!" he says, but Dean pretends not to hear. Sam and Jody turn their heads in unison at the sound - it was really quite loud. Dean's fooling no one, not really. Sam shoots him a questioning look, and Dean just shrugs.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower." Dean stomps down the stairs to the basement, hoping that by shutting the door behind him, John will get the message: Dean's not talking about his love life.

Instead of showering, though, he sits on the edge of the foldout couch. He picks up Cas's pillow and holds it close, Cas's scent filling his nostrils.

He's not ready to talk about this with John. He has no idea how John will react, and he hates that there are unknown factors. John's reappearance is pretty much all unknown, and Dean doesn't know what to do with that. He has no idea how John's going to react to the fact that Dean is bisexual, no idea how he'll react to Dean being with Cas.

When Dean was younger, he'd hidden from John and Sam. In high school, there'd been both boys and girls, fooling around mostly, and it was easy to hide because they so rarely stayed in one place for very long. Once he was in his early twenties, he was on his own a lot of the time, and he found companionship where he could. Sometimes it was more serious (Cassie, maybe Jake), sometimes it was (what he'd thought was) just a weekend (Lisa), and all of it was just something he'd kept to himself. Then Dad had died, and there had been about nine kinds of shit to deal with. So that's what he did - he dealt with the shit, and he found temporary comfort in the arms of other people. There were people he kind of wished he'd had the chance to call back, Jamie, maybe, and the guy who could have been, but wasn't, Aaron.

And then there was Cas. After that awful year with Naomi controlling him, they'd had to slowly rebuild their friendship, and in the process, they'd figured out a lot of things. But it had been Sam who'd actually given them both the final push toward each other. He'd packed a bag for a long weekend and announced loudly that he was going. Then he'd said, "This is the perfect time for you two assholes to figure out your feelings for each other," and he'd left.

Cas and Dean had just stared at each other for a long time after Sam left. Cas squinched up his face in that way of his, and said, "I don't need to figure out my feelings for you, Dean."

Dean's heart had literally skipped a beat - he'd felt it - and he'd said in a dry croak, "You don't?"

Cas had smiled and leaned over to kiss Dean. When he'd pulled away, he asked, "Do you?" Dean had just shaken his head.

It had been surprisingly easy to shift into being a couple. Not much changed. They still fight, over petty things and important things, only now they talk about it (most of the time). And then they have make up sex.

Dean remembers when Sam came back from his weekend trip. He'd eyed the two of them, seated on the couch, legs entangled and hands clasped together. All he'd said was, "About damn time."

But now John is back, and Dean's faced with a situation he'd never imagined he'd need to deal with. How do you come out to your resurrected father?

Dean presses his face further in Cas's pillow and groans loudly. Why can't his problems be more garden variety, like having a leaky roof? Resurrected relatives are not a thing anyone should have to deal with.

There's a knock at the door. "Dean? Can I come down?" It's Sam.

Dean puts Cas's pillow back. "Yeah," he calls up the stairs, and Sam opens the door. Dean can hear the low rumble of John's voice and then Jody's in reply as they talk in the kitchen. Sam descends and sits in the overstuffed chair in the corner.

"What'd Dad say?" he asks without preamble.

Dean shrugs. "He asked about Jody, and then he wanted to know..."

"He wanted to know about you."

Dean nods. "Even asked if I've left a bunch of kids around the country. Like I wouldn't stick around if that were the case." He makes a face, and ignores the small voice inside his head that constantly accuses him of doing just that to Lisa and Ben. It's not like Lisa didn't have a handle on it before he had shown up. If anything, he'd been an additional burden.

"You gonna tell him about Cas?" Sam asks.

"Of course I am, Sam! If Dad turns out to be... well, Dad, and this isn't something that's going to blow up in our faces, of course I'm going to tell Dad about Cas." Dean pauses. "Sam, it's Cas. He's..." Dean inhales a shaky breath. "Sam, Cas is it. You know that, right? Cas is it for me. There's not going to be anyone else." It's the first time he's admitted this to anyone else out loud. He should be terrified, but instead, he's feeling strangely at peace. It's as if the words, made true by being spoken aloud, have created a security blanket. Dean inhales again, and this time it's strong and sure.

Sam looks a little shellshocked by Dean's revelation, probably more stunned that Dean's said something than by the actual fact, and then he says, "Does Cas know?"

Dean laughs. "Cas knows, Sam. He's always known. I just haven't said it to him." Dean fingers the fabric of his jeans, smiling. "I'll tell him when he gets back." This knowledge, this decision steadies Dean, and he looks over at his younger brother, feeling better than he has since John showed up in the diner. Sam's grinning back at him.

"That's great, Dean."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"And Dad?" Sam asks.

"Cas and I'll tell him." Dean shrugs, but the movement isn't borne of uncertainty, but rather of inevitability.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner is awkward, uncomfortable even. Cas returned, as promised, a grim look on his face – no information. They're sitting at the table in Jody's kitchen, and the only sounds are forks and knives clattering against the plates.

After dinner, Cas and Dean clean up while Sam and Jody go out for a walk. They need to stretch their legs, and Sam says he just needs to be out of the house. They wander down the driveway hand in hand.

John, claiming exhaustion, heads up to the guest room and shuts the door behind him with an emphatic click.

Dean and Cas go down into the basement and sit on the fold out bed.

"You're worried," Cas says after a moment.

"No. I mean, yeah, this thing with Dad... I don't trust it. He's got to be here for a reason."

"We'll figure it out," Cas says. He hesitates, and then asks, "Will you tell him about us?"

"Yes. Cas, of course. I just don't know how he's..." Dean turns and curls into Cas's side. Cas wraps an arm around Dean's waist and pulls him in closer. He doesn't say anything though, knowing that Dean needs to work it through himself.

"How are our lives still this weird? I mean who else has to deal with their parents coming back from the dead? Coming out is hard enough as it is."

"You think he won't accept you as you are," Cas says after a minute.

Dean's quiet for such a long time that Cas wonders if Dean's not going to answer the question at all. He knows that Dean hasn't fallen asleep; Dean's body in his arms is too tense, his breathing unsteady.

"I always did what he told me to. Always did what he expected." Dean laughs, but the sound is bitter, regretful. "Sam was the one who fought against that. He never did what he was told. And now..." Dean sighs. He slides his hand up under Cas's t-shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. "If you were only an angel. Or, only a man, it might be easier." Dean buries his face in Cas's neck, so his next words are muffled. "But... What do I say? 'Hey Dad, the love of my life is not only a guy, but he's an angel!'"

Cas stiffens, surprised.

"What?" Dean asks, leaning up to look at Cas. Cas is staring down at him, features schooled into a carefully neutral expression.

"Cas?" Dean asks. "What is– oh."

"I'm the love of your life?" Cas manages to say in an awed whisper.

Dean scoots up into a seated position. "Well, yeah, Cas." He rolls his shoulders. "I figured you knew that."

Cas examines his fingers. "I do now."

Dean kisses Cas, who responds eagerly, almost a little desperately. They kiss for several long moments, nipping lightly at each other's lips, and then Dean rests his forehead on Cas's.

"Cas, I- I always just assumed you knew, man," Dean says in a rough voice.

Cas laughs. "How could I? It's not something you say." Dean thinks about it. Cas is right, it's not something Dean says. He doesn't tell people things, he's not a man of words, not really. He's a man of action, and he shows people how he feels about them. He goes to the ends of the earth for the people he loves, he takes care of the people he loves, and he forgives the people he loves when they make mistakes, even the most terrible mistakes possible.

Dean doesn't say he loves people.

Cas cups the back of Dean's neck with one hand, and thinks about all the times Dean has done things for him without Cas needing to ask. All the times that Dean has waited for him, all the times Dean has searched for him and all the times Dean has said he's needed Cas. "Oh," Cas says eventually.

"Hm?" Dean asks.

Instead of answering, Cas kisses Dean again, rolling over so his hips are straddling Dean's, and they're lying chest-to-chest on the bed. Cas sucks a little at Dean's jaw, feeling the increased speed of Dean's pulse beneath his lips, loving the scrub of Dean's scruff against his cheeks. Dean laughs softly, murmuring something about a lapful of angel. Cas hushes him by kissing him again, and after that, Dean doesn't have much more to say.

As if by some unspoken agreement, they don't share breakfast together. They each get up on their own schedule and eat alone, though Dean overlaps with Sam shortly after he gets up. John leaves Sam and Dean in the kitchen with their coffee, saying something about needing a walk, and Sam and Dean exchange glances, but they don't say anything. Cas, true to form, is still sleeping, and Jody's off to work again after a goodbye kiss to Sam. She promises to let them know if anything that's "their kind of unusual" shows up.

There's an uncomfortable, unsettled feeling in the house. Dean is itching to get back on the road, to move, to do something that isn't just sitting around and talking. He's had his fill, even though he knows that there's more to tell. He's certain that if he stays in one place for too much longer, he's going to really lose it. He tries to channel his excess energy and agitation: he cleans up the kitchen, and then borrows Sam's laptop to do some research.

Not certain where to start, he types in, "relatives back from the dead." He's not entirely surprised that there are twenty-three million hits. He's about two seconds away from chucking Sam's laptop across the room when Cas appears, hair rumpled and a pillow crease on his right cheek. Buoyed by his friend’s presence, Dean gets up and grins. He follows Cas into the kitchen and wraps himself around Cas's back while Cas makes coffee.

"Your father?" Cas asks after his first sip of coffee. Dean squeezes Cas and kisses his ear.

"Out." Dean nuzzles into Cas's neck and breathes deeply, inhaling Cas's scent, the slightly musty smell Cas gets when he has just woken, and the underlying aroma that reminds Dean of baking bread. It's a heady combination that always centers Dean and helps bring his rushing mind to a slow crawl, letting him calm down. Cas drinks his coffee with one hand and rubs the other up and down Dean's forearm.

They have a few minutes together before the heavy tread of footsteps on the porch alerts them to John's return. Dean pulls away from Cas reluctantly, his gut twisting with guilt over the fact that he's hiding Cas from John. He clenches his jaw, because he'd actually thought he was beyond all that, that he'd moved out of an existence where he had to hide who he is. But a few days with his dad, and he's already regressed back to being a teenager, feeling like he has to sneak around.

Dean glances at Cas, who gives him a small smile over the lip of his coffee cup. Dean's reminded again by how lucky he is to have Cas as his friend - his best friend - and he can't help the grin that crawls over his face.

"What's got you in such a great mood?" John demands as he comes into the kitchen. Dean straightens, but tries not to let the smile drop.

"Just feeling good, Dad," Dean says, and Cas catches his eye again. He gives Dean an encouraging nod.

"Well, glad someone around here is. Any ideas on why I'm back?"

Dean shakes his head. "Haven't had a whole lot of time to research. " He takes a deep breath so he doesn't snarl at his father, knowing that it won't help matters; he'll feel worse, and his dad will get more irritable.

"Well, come on then. Show me what you got," John says, and he waves at the laptop. Dean sighs and sits at the kitchen table. Cas slides next to him, sitting close enough that Dean can feel the warmth from his friend's body seeping through his Henley. John sits on the other side of Dean and frowns at the web page that's up.

Before John can say anything either approving or disapproving, Dean gestures to the screen. “Most of it’s going to be near death experiences and people dying for five minutes on an operating table.”

John grunts and nods at the screen. “We going to look through all of it?”

Dean tries not to sigh. He clicks on advanced search, and they spend the next twenty minutes or so eliminating some of the extraneous results. They get down to half a million, which is a far cry from their starting point, but still not really useful, when Sam makes an appearance, freshly showered.

He looks over Dean’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Yeah, that's about where I got last night.” He takes Cas’s empty cup and goes into the kitchen, returning after a moment with two full cups of coffee. He hands one back to Cas, who murmurs his thanks.

Once again, John is struck by how well the three of them fit together. He hasn’t seen them working together, not on a hunt, but even in this domestic arena, they move together in concert, picking up on each other’s needs and wants based on some signals that are only known to each other.

“We should go back to the diner,” Dean says.

“Dude, if you’re hungry, Jody’s got...”

Dean flaps a hand at Sam. “Not what I meant. Dad showed up there. So there should be something that might explain what’s going on.”

Cas nods. “Dean’s right.”

Dean flashes a triumphant grin at Sam, who just rolls his eyes. The three Winchesters pile into the Impala a short while later, leaving Cas behind to shower and meet up with them. Dean tries not to feel a bit put out that he doesn’t get to kiss Cas goodbye, and Cas tries not to let it show that he’s also irritated by it. Sam flicks his gaze back and forth between his brother and the angel, a soft expression on his face. Dean scowls at Sam in response.

The drive back to the diner is a little less uncomfortable than the drive away had been, and John takes the opportunity to pester the boys about how they managed to stop the apocalypse.

They tell the story haltingly, passing it back and forth between them when it gets to be too difficult for one to continue. When Dean explains how Sam overcame Lucifer’s possession and jumped into the pit, there’s a horrible silence that grows to fill the car, crowding everything else out.

After about five long, agonizing minutes, Dean flips on the radio and finds a classic rock station. They spend the rest of the drive in their own heads, the radio creating background noise. They lose themselves in their own thoughts, Sam for once not complaining about Dean's music.

The diner is one of those nondescript ones by the side of the road. Everything is brown, the roof, stucco, and awnings, except for the sign, which reads “Lou’s Cafe” in neon pink. Even in the daylight, it’s obvious that the sign is blindingly garish.

Sam goes inside to talk to the wait staff, while Dean and John circle around the building, examining every surface carefully.

“Tell me again how you showed up. What do you remember?” Dean asks.

John crouches to examine something stuck in the asphalt, but he decides it’s not really useful. He stands again, brushing his hands together to knock off any dirt that might have gotten on them.

“I –” John pauses, thinking. “First thing I remember is showing up in the parking lot, seeing the Impala. Knew it was yours, so I headed on in, and there you were.”

Dean nods. “Show me the spot.” John directs them to a spot just about dead center of the parking lot.

This time it’s Dean who crouches down to examine the ground. “Smell anything? Sulphur? Something sweet?”

John hesitates, trying to remember. “No. Just fried food.”

Dean’s face is grim. There doesn’t seem to be any indication of any kind of disturbance on the ground, and the lack of any identifying odor is frustrating. He begins to walk in increasingly larger circles as he examines the pavement, stopping every few feet to kneel down and look more closely. Each time there’s still nothing. John goes around back to examine the dumpsters, and Sam comes out of the diner to join him.

Dean’s about two thirds finished with his circuit of the parking lot when Cas appears right next to him. It’s a testament to how long they’ve been friends now that Dean doesn’t jump when Cas does that. Dean brushes his hand lightly against Cas’s in a brief greeting, and they continue the search together.

Searching the diner and surrounding area is a bust, and they're all a little irritable by the time they all clamber back into the Impala. Sam opens one of the doors as if he's going to sit in the back and let Cas take shotgun, but Cas gives him the tiniest of head shakes, and slides in behind Dean, who's already in the driver's seat. John takes the decision out of Sam's hands and gets in next to Dean, turning part way in his seat so he can see all three of them: Sam, Dean and Cas.

"Tell me about the bunker."

Sam clears his throat. "It belongs to this group, they're called the Men of Letters." Sam pauses. "Actually, your dad was one of them."

John frowns. "What?" He glances sharply between Sam and Dean.

"Yeah, so, turns out your father – Henry – he didn't just abandon you or anything. He died about a year ago," Dean says. "Just after he left you that night." John looks confused, and Dean figures he's got a right to be. Dean launches into a longer, more detailed explanation of what happened with Henry and the demon Abaddon. Dean stumbles, making a hash of the explanation. It's a lot harder to explain time travel than it is to be a part of it.

John is silent for a long moment, thinking about how strange this all is. Not that his sons have somehow managed to meet his father, his father who he'd thought had left never to return, but that they sound damn normal when they talk about it. He makes a soft sound that's sort of like a laugh, like he can't decide whether to believe any of it.

"What?" Sam asks.

John shakes his head, because suddenly he's laughing too hard to respond. The sheer ludicrousness that is their lives is nothing short of unbelievable, yet given all that he's seen himself, he knows that he should suspend disbelief.

He finally stops laughing enough to speak. "If it were anyone else... I'd say you were making all of this up." He scrubs his face. "We've all been to Hell and somehow lived to tell the tale. You've got an angel in the backseat. You've met Lucifer for crying out loud."

Sam shrugs, ignoring the look of disbelief on John's face. "At this point, it is what it is," Sam says.  Dean mutters something under his breath about Purgatory, and Cas laughs under his breath in response, but John misses the exchange because he's concentrating on Sam.

"So who are the Men of Letters?" John asks.

Sam explains who the Men of Letters are – well, were – and what Henry's role was in the organization. John laughs long and hard when Sam explains that they are legacies.

"Legacies, are you joking?"

"No, sir," Sam says, slipping into old habits. "You were meant to be a Man of Letters, as were we. The bunker is their headquarters."

"Sam," Dean says after a minute of listening to John's incredulous laughter. "Tell him about Mom."

"What about your mother?" John asks, and there's a note of hopeful longing in his voice that makes both Sam and Dean squirm uncomfortably.

"Oh yeah. The Campbells, they're hunters. Like the Winchesters are Men of Letters – goes back generations."

"What, Samuel? Mary's father – no way was he a hunter. Died of a stroke..."

Dean's shaking his head before John finishes. "Yellow Eyed Demon," Dean says. "And then, um..."

"I shot Samuel. Three years ago," Sam says, and before John can muster up any kind of response to this, Sam launches into an explanation of his year of hunting alongside the Campbells, and the search for the alphas.

"Where was Dean?" John asks, puzzled that Sam spent a year hunting on his own without Dean to keep him going. The Sam he remembers had gone into hunting reluctantly, and then really only thrown himself into it once Jess died. Not so unlike his old man after all, John thinks.

"I was staying with an old friend," Dean says, cagey.

"Yeah? A girl? Do I get to meet her? This must be some special lady to keep you away from hunting for a year," John says, his curiosity piqued by his older son's personal life, or rather, the lack of details about it. Sam's been open about Madison, and Ruby, and John can only shake his head ruefully at that, angry with himself for leaving his sons without a guiding hand. Left to his own devices, Sam had clearly made all kinds of bad choices. Dean tried to get Sam to stop, had tried to get Sam to make better decisions, but clearly Dean's weakness is his brother, and he was too late to be useful.

But it's interesting, John thinks, that Dean's mentioned almost no one in his own personal life. John doesn't believe for one second that there's been no one for years. The Dean Winchester he knew was a consummate flirt, ready with a wink and a smile, the kind that makes women go weak in the knees. It was always fun watching Dean get girls to pay attention to him – it was as if he hardly had to try. But now Dean no longer uses his charm. Dean doesn’t look unhappy, though. If anything, this Dean, the one who is eight - no, nine - years older, is also at least that much more mature, and that much more confident. He carries himself with much less in the way of swagger, and much more in the way of assurance and certainty than John's ever seen in his son. Dean’s lighter somehow, and there's something else...but John can't quite put his finger on what that might be.

Dean clears his throat before he answers John's question about Lisa. "Uh, we're not together anymore," Dean says finally, and he hopes it's enough of an answer for John at the moment. He doesn't miss the flicker of Cas's eyes in his direction.

Thankfully, they've arrived at Jody's house, and she's out front talking with one of her deputies when Dean parks. Jody finishes up with the deputy and comes over to kiss Sam hello.

"Any luck?" she asks, but she thinks she already knows the answer, if the glum looks on their faces are anything to judge by.

"No, nothing there," Sam says. Jody squeezes his hand in consolation.

They troop into the house, and Dean offers to make dinner. John looks surprised, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

Cas joins Dean in the kitchen to help out, and Dean sets him to work peeling potatoes while he gathers the ingredients he needs for the main part of dinner. Both Dean and Cas like the act of cooking. There's a rhythm to the preparation – gathering the ingredients, followed by sautéing, grilling, broiling, or baking. Each act of destruction brings ingredients together in a new creation. In many ways, cooking is the polar opposite of what both Dean and Cas do as part of their everyday lives, which is part of the reason why they find cooking so satisfactory.

They're laughing about something, and Dean's about to feed Cas a piece of bell pepper when John comes into the kitchen looking for a beer. Dean pales, but points wordlessly at the fridge. John grabs three beers and goes back into the living room. He gives no indication that he's caught Dean and Cas in an intimate moment, and Dean doesn't know whether this is a good or a bad thing.

Cas watches Dean as his friend collects himself and returns to the cooking. Cas presses his lips together, but picks up another potato, leaving Dean to his headspace while they prepare the rest of the meal in silence.

After dinner, Jody has to go back to work, and the four of them sit in the living room and try to brainstorm what might have been able to bring John back from the dead.

"Demon?" John tosses out, but Cas shakes his head.

"Neither angels nor demons had a hand in this," Cas says with some authority.

"There aren't that many creatures that have this kind of power," Sam says. "Other than angels and demons, we're looking at a god or goddess, one of the Fates –" here both Cas and Dean roll their eyes. "Or maybe a Trickster," Sam finishes.

Dean frowns. "But Gabriel –"

"No, not Gabriel. An actual Trickster. There's more than one you know," Cas explains. Dean makes a face that shows exactly what he thinks of this information.

"If it were one of the Fates, why would she want to bring Dad back? Or even if it were a god or goddesses?" Dean muses, thinking out loud and not really expecting an answer.

“It’s not like Fate is our biggest fan,” Cas points out, and Dean tries to hold in his snort of laughter, but it comes bubbling up anyway.

“Dude, you’re the one she hates.”

Cas nods, a wry smile on his face, and he has one of those moments where he wishes he could be more open with his affection for Dean. He’s a lot more tactile than he’s ever been, now that he and Dean are together, and he misses the small touches and shows of affection that he and Dean indulge in.

Watching Dean now, Cas realizes that being together is, for the both of them, just that: an indulgence. They give in to their need for each other, their desire for touch, comfort, and love. With Dean, Cas allows himself the luxury of sleeping, of sleeping late, sharing in the warmth of being in bed with Dean, their arms and legs tangled together. Cas lets the rhythmic beat of Dean’s heart be his lullaby, and the scent of his friend has become home in ways that Heaven never really was.

Cas misses all of that and more, despite the fact that it’s only been two days – two days wherein they still have the quiet sanctity of their nights. Cas watches John as he speaks to his sons, and tries not to let resentment grow. It’s not John’s fault that Cas feels this way. It’s not his fault that there’s an itch in Cas’s palms that can only be stilled by holding Dean’s hand or rubbing his back. It’s not John’s fault that Cas’s arms feel more empty by the hour as he has to sit apart from Dean and exercise restraint.

Cas is, after all, an angel of the Lord, and he can exercise restraint. He can do it until the cows come home should it become necessary.

Sam catches Cas’s eye and raises an eyebrow at him in a “What’s going on?” kind of expression. Cas frowns slightly and shakes his head, but Sam looks pointedly at Cas’s lap, where his hands are balled into fists.

Oh.

Perhaps his restraint needs a little more exercising.

Cas lets his hands relax and he tunes back into the conversation, listening as John and Dean work their way through - and eliminate - every possible supernatural suspect.

Of course, Cas is curious about why John is back, but he's more interested in what it's doing to Sam and Dean. The sudden reappearance of a parental figure deemed long since gone has got to be more than unnerving. For the most part, Sam and Dean are handling it fairly well. Cas wonders if this status will remain, or if things will begin to change rapidly over the next few days. Cas has learned that with the Winchesters, things tend to go along fairly well for a while, and then go to shit without very much in the way of a warning. Cas recognizes the futility of such an effort, but he throws up a short prayer that things will ultimately be all right. It is the very least he can do.


	5. Chapter 5

Because life does not stop just because the Winchesters have a problem to solve, there’s a vampire nest to deal with in Minnesota. John’s eager to get going on it when Garth calls them, and Sam and Dean shrug and agree that it needs to be handled.

Cas and Dean have a few moments alone in Jody’s basement before they go; Cas needs to go back and get things done in Heaven. Dean’s leaning against one of the poles that is inexplicably in the center of the room, Cas has his arms around him, and they’re kissing and speaking quietly to each other.

“You’ll let me know if you figure out anything else about your father?” Cas asks.

Dean laughs. “Can we not talk about my dad right now?” He captures Cas’s lips with his own. He wants to get as much out of these last few stolen moments as he can, and Cas does as much as he can to return them to the real world. Dean would rather be here, with Cas.

Laughter rumbles in Cas’s chest as well, reverberating against Dean, and he pulls his friend closer still. “What else shall we talk about then?” Cas asks when Dean moves from Cas’s mouth, pressing his lips against Cas’s jawline. Dean loves this jawline, loves the way Cas’s scruff rubs against his lips, and he spends as much time kissing it as he can.

“Less talk, more kissing,” Dean murmurs, pressing another kiss to Cas’s lips before he returns his attention to Cas’s jaw.

“Dean,” Cas says, but he’s not really sure what he was going to say after that, because, as always, Dean’s an expert at distracting him. And when Dean’s lavishing attention on him with his mouth, Cas is easily lost to the sensations. Considering that he’d spent most of the previous evening lamenting the loss of moments like these, he’s not sure why he’s doing his best to deter Dean. He says Dean’s name again, only this time it’s not because he’s trying to get Dean’s attention, but because Dean’s found his way to the long line of muscle in his neck, and his world has narrowed to the sensations of Dean’s mouthing at it.

They’re breathing heavily, their clothing and hair mussed by the time Sam pounds on the door and hollers that it’s time to go, so they reluctantly pull apart. Dean smooths the front of Cas’s shirt and ruffles his hair back into place, while Cas grins at him. Then Cas does the same for Dean, pulling the plaid overshirt straight and running his fingers through Dean’s hair. They eye each other critically, looking for hints of any of their previous activity, and then head up the stairs to the kitchen.

Sam’s alone in the kitchen, waiting for them to emerge, and he smirks at them, knowing full well what they’d been up to (he and Jody had been doing much the same earlier), and he tilts his chin at Cas in a farewell gesture.

“Dad?” Dean asks, picking up his duffel.

“Waiting by the car,” Sam responds. Cas gives Dean one last kiss before he disappears in a flurry of wings and trench coat, leaving the brothers alone in the kitchen together for the first time in days.

“We sure this is a good idea, going after a nest of vamps in the middle of all this?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “You heard Garth. We’re the only ones close enough.” He turns to go, but then stops. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam waves away Dean’s gratitude, thinking about all the times that Dean’s intervened between Sam and their dad. Plus, he figures that a happy Dean is a better traveling companion. He keeps this to himself though, as they walk out to the car where John waits.

He’s leaning against the car, arms folded across his chest, but he doesn’t seem that impatient, which is something. His face lights up when the boys appear and he jogs up to the porch to grab Sam’s duffel. “Cas leave already?” John asks. If the boys are surprised at the ease with which the name slides through John's lips, they don't remark on it.

Dean nods, and they load the car. He starts her up and the resulting rumble soothes him immediately. The Impala, at least, is a steady presence in his life that always reassures him. Parents back from the dead, an uncertain future with an unknown death at the hands of the supernatural, those are all things beyond Dean’s control. But the Impala - she’s a constant that he can rely on.

The vamp nest is not a very big one, but it’s messy nonetheless, as they were in the process of turning several of the local residents. Sam and Dean move through the nest with practiced ease, slicing their way through the older vamps and collecting as much blood as they can. John hangs back, not because he thinks he can’t handle the vampires, but because he wants to watch his sons in action. He’s curious about the fact that they’re collecting the blood of the vampires.

“Dad, watch over those two,” Sam says, pointing at the two teenagers hovering in a corner, chained to the wall. He’s not yet sure that they’re the only ones who have just been turned, but he wants to make sure that they, at least, won’t be vampires permanently.

When they’ve finished, Dean and Sam manhandle the two teens into the back of the Impala, hands bound with plastic ties and their mouths covered in duct tape. Dean spends about ten minutes waxing poetic about the various uses of duct tape until Sam tells him to shut up. John snorts in laughter, glad to see that some things, at least, haven’t changed that much. They go back to the motel they’re staying in and put together Samuel Campbell’s vampire formula. Feeding it to the teens is difficult, but they manage, and the teens revert back to their human selves eventually.

They aren’t too thrilled about it, complaining that they’d wanted to become vampires, but Dean just rolls his eyes and takes them back home. He does his best not to lecture them (too much) on the way, though he does slap them both upside the backs of their heads when he drops them off.

“It’s not fun, guys. Trust me. Just try to stay out of trouble, okay?” He winces at the fact that he sounds so much like one of those old dads in a fifties sitcom. When the boy gives him the finger, he cheerfully returns it and peels out of their driveway leaving a healthy amount of rubber on the asphalt.

When Dean gets back to their motel room, John and Sam sit awkwardly, apparently waiting for him to return. John’s at the tiny table, surrounded by his old journal, a few newspapers and a notepad. Sam’s lounging on one of the beds, his laptop open, but he’s frowning at a news report on the tv. The atmosphere in the room is lukewarm, maybe even cool, but it’s definitely not the frigid ice cold it would have been ten years ago. Dean doesn’t know whether this reflects the fact that they all currently have a common goal - figuring out what happened to bring John back - or if it’s due more to the fact that the person Sam is today is nothing like the person he was back then.

Dean shrugs and dumps his duffel on the other bed, noting that there’s a spare cot folded up in the corner. He wonders idly who’s going to be relegated to the cot and resigns himself to the thought that it’s probably going to end up being him. _Great_ , he thinks. _I miss my memory foam_. He also misses Cas, but he doesn’t want to even allow the thought to coalesce, knowing that at the moment, it’s not productive and it won’t get him anywhere.

John nods at Dean, who goes into the bathroom. John can hear the shower beginning to run. He’s been flipping through the journal, noting the additional pages that Dean has added over the years. There are a lot of them, but most of the notations are brief, cursory, and clearly meant only to be read and appreciated by the author. John understands most of what Dean’s written in the journal, at least, the parts specifically about hunting, and he’s beginning to parse out the stuff that relates to their history since he died – strange to think of it that way – but there are clearly gaps in the journal. The vampire cure, for example, is only listed as a series of ingredients and directions, like a recipe, and there’s not much in the way of background, just a note: "SC".

There are a few cryptic notes, items, maybe people, delineated only by initials, and lots of notations in what is clearly some kind of code. On the one hand, it’s frustrating for John, because the journal is a window into his son’s mind, and he’s been privy to so little of that since he’s come back. On the other hand, he’s impressed by what he sees on the pages; the hunter that Dean’s become is a far cry from the young man willing to risk just about anything for the thrill of the kill.

John wants to know more about who his sons are, these nine years on, these men who are no longer boys. It’s strange to him to see them looking as they do today, somehow bigger, more solid. They’re also so much older, the lines beside their eyes and the creases in their foreheads telling the tale of all they’ve lived through in the last few years. There are things that they’ve done and creatures they’ve battled that John was certain never even existed until the boys - sorry, men - told him about them. They look tired, _old_ , despite the fact that they're only in their thirties.

 _Did I look like that at that age?_ John wonders, trying to remember back to those days. They had been filled with anger and fear, the driving need to _know_ , to learn about things that he'd thought all his life had been the stuff of nightmares and movies. To find out that these things were actually _real_ had not taken away the pain of the loss of Mary, in fact in many ways, that knowledge had fueled his rage more than anything.

And then to learn that in fact he was meant to actually be a part of this world all along, that it had also robbed him of his father, well. Knowing that the creature that had killed Mary was gone had gone a long way toward soothing his pain. Now there was another piece of his life, a mystery that he had thought was a mundane one, that also turned out to be supernatural.

It's enough to wonder if perhaps the Winchester family was cursed.

John scrubs his face, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He could spiral around in them forever and still not learn everything he wanted to know, and he had his sons right in front of him, full of answers.

Answers they'd learned in eight years, things that he couldn't determine in twenty-two.

Dean's drying his hair as he walks out of the bathroom, steam billowing into the room around him. "Man I miss the shower room in the bunker," he says to Sam, who grins before returning his attention to the news.

"Shower room?" John asks.

"Yeah. There's this whole complex. Library, shooting range, bedrooms. There's even some kind of observatory. Cas wants to get it up and running, but..." Dean trails off with a shrug. Sam shoots a glance at his brother.

"Cas stay with you a lot?" John asks. He's curious about the angel, who never leaves Dean's side when the three men are together. John doesn't understand why the angel is still there, if they stopped the Apocalypse, what purpose does he serve?

Dean's face clouds a little. "Yeah. Told you, he's family." Dean digs through his duffle for a shirt and a pair of jeans, pulling them on when he's found what he wants. The jeans are soft and well worn at the knees, but clean and well fitted. The top is a simple dark Henley. He runs his fingers through his hair. "We gonna grab dinner at some point?" Dean asks Sam, who nods.

John sighs in frustration, realizing he's not going to get anything else out of Dean on the subject.

It's at the diner that John asks about the vampire cure. "How'd you find out about that, anyway?"

Dean and Sam exchange glances, and then Sam begins to explain about alphas and Samuel. He leaves out the part where he deliberately let Dean be turned, figuring that it wasn’t truly him, not really.

"Wait. You were turned into a vampire? And then cured?" John asks. He's not sure whether this is the most horrifying thing he's heard from his sons so far. Judging from the shrug that Dean gives, he thinks maybe not.

"Another day at the office, Dad," Dean says.

John grunts and takes another bite of his burger. It's a decent enough burger, and he savours it as he chews. He has no disillusions that his place back here, alive, is a permanent one; on the contrary, he's currently operating under the impression that this is a short run, a few weeks only. He has nothing whatever on which to base this particular idea, except for his gut.

He says as much to Sam and Dean, who take in the information with stoic faces and think on it while they finish eating.

Sam's the one who brings it up again when they're back at the motel. "You really think it's only temporary?"

John shrugs, because at this point, everything is pure guesswork. "I don't know, Sammy." Sam bristles at the nickname. "We don't know much of anything at this point." He doesn't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does, but somehow, he's managed to do just that, and Dean, who was hanging up his blue jacket, stiffens.

"It's not as if we have a ton to go on, Dad," Dean says. He folds his arms over his chest, frowning. "Are you sure you're telling us everything you remember?"

"Of course I am," John snaps, although he immediately regrets it. It's a valid question. Their tempers are frayed to the point of breaking. They haven't spent this much time together in ten years, give or take, and neither one of his sons are used to having their every move scrutinized or questioned.

Dean scrubs his face with his right hand. "We need to pick this up in the morning. We're not getting anywhere this way."

John opens his mouth to protest, but, realizing that Dean is right, he closes it again and nods.

Dean picks up his cell phone and waves it at Sam. "Gonna make a call, I'll be back."

"Okay," Sam says, pulling out his laptop. "I'm going to look into a few more avenues before I give up on the Internet completely."

Dean nods and exits the room,  shutting the door firmly behind him as he goes. John peeks out of the window and sees Dean standing a couple of doors down, shoulders hunched up around his ears, talking on the cell phone. After a few minutes' conversation, he relaxes bit by bit, until he laughs, a smile on his face.

The expression on Dean's face is not one John has ever seen there, he doesn't think. It's soft around the edges, radiating warmth and affection. There's an openness to the look that is honest and raw, and it hits John like a blow to the gut. He's seen that very look on his own face and on Mary's. His oldest son is in love.

When they get up in the morning, there's a lot of grumbling and groaning from the cot where Dean spent the night. He's cursing, not quite under his breath, about the quality of the cot. He has several colorful things to say about the ancestry of the cot, and Sam can't help but grin.

"Dude, you have gotten way too used to that mattress of yours."

Dean makes a face at Sam. "Yeah, well, you didn't have to spend the night with one of those springs digging into your ass." Dean kicks the side of the cot desultorily. "I really miss my bed, man."

John comes out of the shower on the tail end of the discussion, a towel wrapped around his waist. "In the bunker?" He's using one of the smaller towels to dry his hair. He notices that it's exactly the same length it was just before he died.

Dean nods. "Yeah. Memory foam."

John frowns, because that's a new one on him, he doesn't think he's heard of that before. He's about to say so, when Dean asks, "What's that on your back?" Hes standing behind John, and he can see a large mark directly between John's shoulder blades. It may have been a while, but he's pretty sure he's never seen that kind of marking on John.

John tries to peer over his shoulder to see, but the mark is squarely in the middle, and he can't see anything at all. "What's it look like?"

Dean ponders the mark, leaning in closely. "Like a... Like a fancy u?" Dean looks again. "No. I think it's a mu. Greek, maybe? Looks like a funny lowercase u. Like..." Dean grabs the journal, and a pen, and draws the letter. "Like this." He sticks the end of the pen in his mouth and sucks on it while he contemplates the letter.

"How big is it?" John asks, still trying to see the mark over his shoulder, with little success.

Sam's looking at it now, too. "It's about the size of the palm of a hand."

John eyes Sam's enormous hands warily. "Your hand?"

Sam grins. "No, a standard sized hand."

Dean looks up from the paper that he's still holding loosely in his hand. "You didn't have this before, right, Dad?"

John shakes his head. "Nope."

Dean stands there, lost in thought for a moment, and then he says, "Sam, I think we have to take him to the bunker. There's a lot more stuff on the Greeks there, and we can control that environment. If the mark is a clue to what the hell is going on here, I think it's our best bet."

Sam's nodding in agreement almost before Dean's stopped talking. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right, Dean. I'll call Kevin, let him know we're coming."

John, still standing in the middle of the room in his towel, says, "Who the hell is Kevin?" 


	6. Chapter 6

The explanation of who Kevin is takes them out of Minnesota and most of the way through Iowa and into Nebraska. Sam calls Jody to let her know that they’re headed back to the bunker, a plan that, judging from the silence on Sam’s end of the phone conversation, Jody does not feel is a good one. Then again, most of the Winchester plans are essentially them hoping not to die, so this one is no better or worse than any other.

John spends most of the trip listening to the story with half an ear, focusing as much on what he’d learned the night before. The sigil marking on his back is worrying, because its origin is still unknown, but he’s frankly not concerned about that at all. He’s more interested in who it is that Dean is in love with, and who he’d been on the phone with. John tries not to think about the fact that Dean has lied to him about the fact that there was a woman in his life. By the time they reach the Kansas border, John’s decided that the fact that Dean lied is the most distressing part of the entire thing, and he vows to take Dean aside and talk to him about it at some point soon.

His musings mean that he’s almost missed it, though, and when an expectant silence falls in the Impala, he’s wrenched back to the here and now. “Wait. What?” John asks. He thinks he heard correctly, but he wants to be sure. “You spent a year in Purgatory?”

Dean nods, concentrating fiercely on the road. “Yeah. And Sam didn’t look for me.”

Sam sighs heavily from the back seat. “I thought you were letting that go.”

Dean snorts. “Apparently not.”

Another sigh. “Dean.”

John listens to the exchange between Sam and Dean, and is actually a little grateful that they’re bickering like this. It’s been disconcerting, seeing them as such adults, exhibiting very little in the way of the kinds of behavior they did when they were younger. This back and forth between the two of them is something that he’s familiar with, something that he can tether himself to. He waits it out as they toss a few barbs back and forth, referring to things that they’ve only hinted at so far, so John quickly becomes lost in the conversation. He clears his throat loudly in the hopes of derailing what is clearly about to become a giant bitch fest.

It works, and they stop fighting long enough for John to throw in a question about Purgatory. He resists the temptation to ask if Dean’s planning any other trips into the afterlife.

Dean describes it, a place bled of color and warmth, one where the constant state of being is that of _need_. Needing to rest, to eat, to drink, despite knowing that no matter how much one sleeps, eats or drinks, that need can never really be fulfilled. He talks about the purity of the place, how he knew who the monsters were (everyone else) and what he had to do when he came across them. There’s an odd tone to his voice as he speaks, almost as if he’s living with some kind of regret that he wants gone.

“How’d you get out?” John has a dozen questions, but this is the one he manages to settle on, the one that he thinks will have the most tangible answer.

“Purgatory’s not meant for humans or angels. Just for monsters. After I found Cas, we found a portal,” Dean says. He makes it sound as if it was easy as pie, sliding in and out of Purgatory like it was nothing. John’s not sure whether to be horrified or proud, and he settles for a mixture of the two.

“A portal, huh? Your angel know about that?” John asks.

“No, a friend,” Dean says, going mute again.

“A friend,” John says flatly. “In Purgatory.” The criticism is blatant. Dean had just finished telling him how everything in Purgatory was a monster, and now he’s talking about a friend. “What friend?”

Dean inhales. “Doesn’t matter, he’s gone."

Dean hopes that John will let well enough alone, because he just isn’t going to talk about Benny. He can’t, not even after all this time. Even Sam has learned to leave well enough alone, and the subject of Benny is off limits.

Of course, Dean realizes, the list of things he won’t talk about with John is growing ever longer. Will that list ever end? Or will they continue to pile on forbidden topics of conversation until everything Dean has to say can be boiled down to a surly, “No.”?

Dean has always been close-mouthed by nature, not really willing to share his innermost thoughts and feelings. Feelings were things he was supposed to keep to himself. Feelings were meant to be buried away and not handled.

He’s gotten better about it in the last few years – not to the extent that either Sam or Cas would like, but better nonetheless. Better to the point where he can tell Cas how he feels, but not quite far enough to be ready to share those feelings with his father, not yet anyway.

Dean risks a glance at John, who’s staring out at the highway ahead, apparently lost in thought. Perhaps he’s accepted that Dean’s not going to talk about Purgatory anymore, and is willing to honor that boundary.

For his part, Sam sits in the backseat of the Impala, conspicuously silent, not chiming in with any details about the story at all. He’s been quiet through the entire Purgatory story, no mention of why he didn’t look for Dean. He thinks about how lost he felt after Dean and Cas disappeared, dead, for all he knew, in the aftermath of the death of the Leviathan. He’d spent so much of the previous eight years by Dean’s side, the most recent five with Cas as part of their triumvirate, that to be suddenly alone like that had freaked him out more than a little.

Nine hours and change is a long time for anyone to spend in a car, even Dean Winchester. He’s out of practice these days, now that they have a permanent residence in the bunker. Dean is frankly more than okay with that, glad that he has a home. They stop about halfway through the trip for a meal, eating at yet another nameless, faceless diner, and Sam drifts off toward the newsstand next door.

He comes back quickly, holding a newspaper in one giant hand, and sits across from John, next to Dean. “Get this.” He lays down the paper and shows them the headline just below the fold on the third page, that reads, “Woman Back from the Dead.”

Dean reads through the article with a furrowed brow, and then shoves the paper at John, who scans it quickly.

“This isn’t just some chick who’s been missing and is suddenly back home. This woman’s been dead for five years. There was a corpse and a funeral. She was killed under ‘mysterious’ circumstances,” Sam says, and the way in which he emphasizes the last part of his sentences makes Dean look at him.

“You think those mysterious circumstances may have been demonic?” Dean asks.

Sam shrugs. “Maybe. What I want to know is if this is the only other instance of someone suddenly returning from the dead.” Sam’s getting that look in his eye, the one that means that any WiFi within range is about to get used up and spit out by his sudden need for internet access. Dean just rolls his eyes, used to Sam’s enthusiasm for all things research. He doesn’t begrudge Sam, though, because this may be a break for them. Not knowing what’s been going on has been frustrating, to say the least.

John and Dean finish eating, but Sam pushes his plate away and pulls out his laptop to look into more information about the woman.

Sam's fingers fly across the keyboard as he searches, punctuated by occasional grunts as he learns something new. There's a crease between his brows as he concentrates on the screen, but Dean can't tell if he's getting anything useful out of his search.

It's awkward sitting next to John with Sam working like this. It's like Dean doesn't know what to do with himself now. He feels like he should talk about something, but it's not like there's a whole lot of small talk he can use; his dad has been dead for eight years, he's not up on the recent pop culture or anything. Talking about other things could lead down a path to additional forbidden topics, and that list is already about ten miles long.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and takes another gulp of coffee. The food was decent, but the coffee is as weak as dishwater. He grimaces and puts his cup back. Turning to John, he opens his mouth to say something, anything to break the awkward silence, and sees that John's about to do the same thing. They smile wanly at each other and lapse back into the floundering silence.

"Huh," Sam says eventually.

"What?" John says, pouncing.

"Well, she's not the only one back from the dead."

Dean frowns. "How come that didn't show up before? It's not like we didn't do a search for that just two days ago."

Sam shrugs. "Most of the articles I found are from yesterday and today, Dean." He clicks on one. "Like that woman. Adele Winters, 34, died of a stroke five years ago. Sudden death, great tragedy... she showed up at her parent's house a few days ago."

"A few days ago meaning about the same time Dad showed up in the diner?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not about. Exactly, as far as I can tell. In the evening. There're others, too. A teenager killed in a car crash, a girl in her twenties who had been hit by a bus, a lawyer in Poughkeepsie who had apparently... wow, he tripped in his garage and fell on a table saw."

"Fell on a table saw?" John asks.

"Wait, that's not..." Dean says.

"No, that was Chester, PA."

"Right."

John looks back and forth between Dean and Sam, puzzled. "Boys?"

They both shake their heads, Sam waving a hand like it's not important. John purses his lips, because he hates not knowing something, and there's so much there between the two of them – no, the three of them, he mustn't forget the angel – that he doesn't know and isn't a part of. He mourns that lost time more than a little, an ache in his chest for the time he could have had with his sons that he'll never get back.

"We should visit a couple of these folks, see if there's anything they can add," Dean says, pulling out his wallet. Sam nods in agreement, packing away his laptop. They move from relaxed and laid back into hunting mode seamlessly, faces serious and determined. Dean pays for the food and they head back to the Impala.

"I'm just gonna..." Dean says, taking out his cellphone. Sam nods and folds himself into the car. John looks like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it and follows Sam into the car. They watch as Dean dials and waits for the other person to pick up.

"Who's Dean calling?" John asks, trying for casual interest. He's pretty sure he hasn't succeeded at all.

"Uh. Not sure, you'll have to ask him," Sam says. The answer given is a little too easy, a bit too offhand, and John realizes that Sam knows exactly who it is that Dean is talking to.

"Something you want to tell me?" John asks, facing Sam in the back seat.

Sam swallows, but meets his father's eye. "No, sir." He pulls out his own phone and taps out a quick text to Jody under John's watchful gaze, trying not to squirm. Sam's hyper aware of how easy it can be to slip back into feeling like an angry teenager, into feeling like nothing he does is the right thing, desperately wanting to be in one place, and not all over. He doesn't like the feeling at all, sliding back into being a kid again, into those familiar old roles. Like an old, worn pair of shoes, it's familiar, but not necessarily comfortable any longer. The man Sam is today is a very different man than the one John last saw.

His phone buzzes with a message back from Jody, and he smiles at her response, which is so characteristically her: caustic and sassy, but loving at the same time. He sends a quick message back, and looks out the window, hoping that Dean's finished on the phone with Cas. From what he can tell, Dean’s wrapping up the conversation, and Sam risks a glance at John out of the corner of his eye. John watches Dean too, a puzzled expression on his face, like he's trying to work something out. Sam sighs, hoping that Dean and Cas get their shit together enough to talk to John, if for no other reason than it hurts Sam to see Dean have to hide one of the things that makes him happy.

The car door opens with a wrench, and Dean gets in. He starts the car and turns out of the parking lot, looking to Sam in the rearview mirror for confirmation on where they’re headed.

“Adele Winters is kind of local, so let’s hit her up first,” Sam says. He directs Dean to the interstate, and they’re on their way.


	7. Chapter 7

Adele Winters’ parents live in a small house off the beaten path just outside of Arlington, Nebraska. White clapboard covers the house, and each window is framed neatly by black shutters. There’s a mailbox shaped like a duck in front, and a flower box to the right of the screen door. Dean and Sam have changed into their FBI suits, and washed off most of the dirt of the road. They stand on the front porch, waiting for their knock to be answered. John had just dropped them off, reluctantly agreeing that it would look suspicious for there to be three of them, especially since he only had the clothing he’d shown up in and a few extra shirts that he’d been borrowing from Sam. No matter how you try, an ill-fitted suit looks just that, and they don’t want to call too much attention to themselves.

Sam’s wearing his standard grey FBI suit, with a dark blue tie, whichever one was at the top of his duffle, or at least, not so far down that he had had to search for it for too long. Dean has opted to wear his dark blue suit and a tie with a thick green stripe alternated with the dark blue one. He smooths the tie down again, and perks up when he hears footsteps behind the door. He puts on his most charming smile as an older woman, perhaps in her late 50s, early 60s opens the door.

“Yes?” She asks in a hesitant voice. Dean doesn’t blame her. Their house is really the only one out here, and there’s nothing but farmland for miles. Two suited men making the trek out this far can only bode ill.

They pull out their badges and flash them. “Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m Agent Davison, and this is my partner, Agent Howe with the FBI,” Sam says. “Are you Mrs. Winters?”

She peers closely at the badges, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean and the badges several times. She looks like she’s about to ask if she can see them more closely, but she gives a tiny shake of her head and holds the door open wider, inviting them in. “What can I do for you boys?” she asks, leading them into the living room.

The living room is stuffed to the brim with furniture: there’s a loveseat, two matching overstuffed chairs and an enormous coffee table. The room itself is not that big to begin with, and the furniture makes it seem even smaller. Every available surface in the room is covered in doilies, which are in turn covered with photographs. Most of the photographs are of smiling children from varying points in time; some of the photos look like they’re from the seventies, the colors washed out and rusty. The photographs tell the story of a close-knit family with many smiling children moving forward through the decades.

“You are Mrs. Winters?” Dean asks, before sitting on the lumpy couch.

She nods and smiles warmly at Dean. “I am. Would you like some lemonade? It’s not been as hot recently, but I bet that being FBI is thirsty work.”

Dean and Sam exchange glances, but shake their heads. “No, thank you,” Dean says.

“Mrs. Winters, I know that this may be difficult, but…” Sam begins, but Mrs. Winters interrupts him.

“You’re here about Adele.” She smiles again, and it’s as if she’s only just recently started doing it again after a long time off. It’s not quite right, the smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says, and Mrs. Winters throws that odd, off-center smile at him again.

“Adele is with her father out shopping. I stayed home because I just needed the time to think. It’s not every day that your child comes back from the dead, now is it?” Dean and Sam agree with her that it’s not an every day occurrence, and she hesitates before ploughing ahead. “She just showed up here, right at our front door. Five days ago.” Sam makes a notation in his notepad, tilts it so Dean can see. Sam’s scrawled: ‘When Dad came back.’ Dean nods just enough for Sam to pick up on it, and they listen to Mrs. Winters, who’s started talking again.

“It was as if she’d never been gone. She looked exactly the same as before. Exactly the same.” Mrs. Winters trails off as if she’s recalling a memory of some kind. This time she doesn’t pick up her story again, and Dean leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“Mrs. Winters, was there anything strange about the reappearance of your daughter?”

She looks at him shrewdly. “You mean other than her coming back from the dead?”

Dean’s cheeks color faintly. “Yeah, other than that.”

“Well, Agent … Howe, was it?” Dean nods, and she continues. “She had a mark on her back. Sort of like a tattoo but not. My baby girl would never get a tattoo.”

“What did the mark look like?” Sam asks.

“Like a lowercase u,” she replies, and Dean pulls out the sheet of paper on which he had drawn the symbol from John’s back.

“Like this?” He shows her the symbol.

She takes a pair of reading glasses out of one of the pockets of her sweater and puts them on, peering down at the mark on the paper. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“Is it possible for us to speak with your daughter – with Adele – when she returns, do you think?” Sam asks, and he smiles at her, using the smile that makes most older women want to reach out and grab his cheek between their thumb and forefinger and squeeze really hard.

Mrs. Winters regards them both for a long, silent moment, before she nods. “I suppose that would be all right. You aren’t going to take her away from me, are you?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, Mrs. Winters, we’d never do that.” He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that if there’s some supernatural reason for Adele and John to be back, then it may not be a permanent state. His stomach gives a small, uncomfortable flip at this, painfully aware of how much this will hurt this woman, who is so happy to have her daughter back.

They rise then, and thank her, shaking her hand. Sam hands her a business card and she takes it, promising to call them when Adele returns.

Back out front again, Dean says, “I’m gonna take a look around the property.” He hands Sam his phone. “Let Dad know what the story is.” Sam nods and punches his own phone number; they'd given John Sam's cell just before they'd split up.

A quick search of the property proves fruitless, and Dean meets Sam down at the corner, where he’s frowning over Dean’s phone.

“What is it?” Dean asks, trying to peek over Sam’s shoulder.

“Another person back from the dead. We know this guy, though.”

“What? Who?” Dean asks.

“Ash,” Sam says, looking up from the phone.

“Ash? Dr. Badass, Ash?” Dean asks, stunned.

A short burst of laughter forces its way out of Sam. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Oh man. We have got to go talk to him,” Dean says. “Hey, what’d Dad say about meeting up with him?”

Sam says, “He should be here in a few minutes, I think.” Dean nods, but he’s distracted as he does it, and he starts picking at his cuticles. Sam doesn’t remark on it, figuring that Dean’ll just snap at him if he does. They’re all out of sorts because of this, and the sooner they figure out what’s going on, the better.

 

 

Adele Winters is a short woman with dark hair that’s been cut into a short pixie style. Her face is heart shaped and she’s all smiles and cheer when Dean and Sam finally get the chance to meet her. Mrs. Winters had called at about 6:30pm to say that Adele was home and willing to talk to them, and they’d driven back to the Winters household as fast as they could. They wanted to interview Adele quickly so they could get on the road and head out towards Ash. The sudden reappearance of Ash had galvanized them, and they felt like there was a direction to their search now.

Adele greets them at the door this time, but instead of letting Dean and Sam (still in their FBI suits) into the house, she closes the door behind her and walks down the front steps.

“I like to be outside if I can,” she says by way of explanation, and when she gets to the end of the walkway, she turns right, away from the main road. Dean and Sam follow her silently, letting her take the lead both in the direction of the walk and the conversation.

Dean and Sam walk on either side of her, and they try not to make it seem like they’re flanking her. She’s quiet for a few minutes, and then she starts to talk. “You want to know where I came from? And how I came back?” She’s phrased them like questions, but it’s clear that they aren’t, more like statements of fact. Sam and Dean both nod.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I don’t know. I don’t have much in the way of any memories between when I had my stroke…” she barks with rueful laughter. “I don’t even remember having a stroke. I remember feeling dizzy and the next thing I knew, I was standing over there, by that tree,” and she points at an oak tree, towering over everything around it. “I hadn’t been home to my parents’ in years, but I remembered that tree, and just walked up to the front door.” She lets loose another laugh, but there’s no actual humor behind it. She stops under the tree and turns around, looking up at Sam. She squints in the low early evening sun. “My mom burst into tears when she opened the door.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she continues. “I don’t know why I’m back, agents, but I’m pretty sure I don’t belong here.”

Dean glances at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”

Adele sighs. “I don’t feel right. I feel…” She tilts her head to the side to try to  figure out how to put it into words. “I feel out of sync with everything. Just... off, like I’m moving at a different speed than everyone else. That’s not quite right, but I’m not a writer, I can’t describe it any better.” She pauses again, and it’s almost as if they can see the thoughts swirling in her head as she tries to grasp onto them. Adele shakes her head, frustrated. “Sorry agents, that’s the best I can do.”

“So you just… showed up, right here? No idea how you got here?” Sam asks. He’s very good at keeping the skepticism out of his voice.

“Yep. I was feeling dizzy in my apartment in Lincoln. My girlfriend had just asked me what was wrong, and then… poof, right here by the tree.”

“That didn’t freak you out?” Dean asks.

Adele shrugs, just a slight lift of her right shoulder. “Sure it did. Not as much as being told I’d been dead and gone these last five years. It’s all about perspective. My heart was pounding when I walked up to my old front door. Then when Momma told me… well, there’s no way to tell you about it unless it’s happened to you.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but he thinks that he has an idea of what she’s talking about. From the tense way that Sam’s holding himself, Dean can tell that he’s thinking something along the same lines.

Sam clears his throat. “Um, I know that this is probably going to sound pretty awkward, but…”

Adele holds up a hand. “Momma told me she mentioned the mark to you. You can look, but I’d prefer if you didn’t touch.” She steps away from them and lifts up the back of her shirt. As with John, the mark is a _mu_ , in the center of her back, just above the line of her bra strap.

Sam hesitates, but asks, “Would you mind if I took a picture of the mark?”

There’s a long pause, but then she nods reluctantly. Sam takes out Dean's phone and snaps a photo. “Done,” he says unnecessarily, as she’s already pulling down her shirt and hugging herself with her arms again. They question her further, but she doesn’t have much more in the way of information to share. They tell her that they might call her again, to follow up on things, and they say their goodbyes. She opts to stay under the tree, waving at them as they walk back toward the spot where John’s got the Impala parked.

“Well?” John asks before they’ve even had the chance to settle into the car.

“Not much there. Same deal. She remembers right before she died, and then she just showed up right outside her parent’s house. She’s got the same mark as you, though.” Sam holds out his phone for John to look at. He examines the picture from several angles and grunts before returning it.

“She said she felt like she didn’t belong here,” Dean says. He’s watching John closely to see what his reaction to this piece of information is, but either John’s incredibly well schooled in hiding things (he is), or he has no particular reaction. Regardless, he just looks blankly at Dean, as if waiting for more information. Dean ploughs ahead. “She said she was out of sync with everyone. Does that sound familiar?”

John’s brows knit together as he thinks about this, his mouth pursed in concentration. Finally he murmurs, “I thought that was just because there’d been so much…” He drifts off, and moves his head as if to shake off a sleepy feeling. “I’ve been feeling off, yes, but I think that has more to do with everything you guys have been up to since I… left. More than enough to make you feel out of step.” There’s a false note of cheer behind the statement, but he’s affected a closed off look, like he’s not interested in discussing the topic anymore.

And Dean figures that’s fair, given how much he’s done that to John himself over the last week. He holds out his hand for the keys, and John pulls them out of his pocket, letting them drop into Dean’s hand. Dean takes off his suit jacket and hangs it up in the back of the car. “Don’t wrinkle it, Sammy.” Sam rolls his eyes and mutters, “Whatever.”


	8. Chapter 8

Ash is exactly as they remember him, mullet and all. He’s got a cocky grin on his face when they pull up in the Impala, and he jogs over to the car to crush both Dean and Sam in great big bear hugs.

“Dudes! It is awesome to see some friendly faces!” He nods at John, who nods back, in the universal wary alpha-male manner.

“Ash, how’s it going?” Dean asks, clapping him on the back. Despite the circumstances, he is glad to see Ash too, especially given that he’s felt guilty about Ash’s death. He’s found ways to forgive himself, and meeting up with Ash in heaven a couple of years after his death seemed to help with that guilt somewhat, but it’s sometimes still there, gnawing at the corners of his psyche.

“Good, dude! Long time, no see! It’s been what… five years? Seven?” Ash asks, grinning. Dean’s happy to see that Ash’s perpetual cheerful mood hasn’t been dimmed by being dead.

“Depends on how you count it, Ash,” Dean says.

“Last I saw you, we were all in Heaven,” Ash answers, and no one misses the sharp questioning look that comes from John.

“You remember that?” Sam asks.

“‘Course I do! Hard to forget when the Winchesters visit Heaven and get to leave again. Place was abuzz with rumors for weeks after. So what did end up happening with you guys, anyway?”

“It is a long, long story,” Dean says, and Ash grins again, throwing in a wink for good measure.

“Say no more. C’mon, let’s get some brews and we can sit down and talk about what’s going on here.”

They’d met Ash at a bar not too far out of Sioux Falls, and Jody was going to meet up with them later. Inside the bar it was cool, dark and noisy - the height of the evening rush. They’d left Adele’s house and driven straight here, stopping long enough to refuel the car and change back into their “civilian” clothing, and had managed to make the trip in just about three hours. Dean’s exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to crawl into a bed - at this point, any bed will do - and sleep for at least six hours. He’s still feeling enough residual guilt over what happened with Ash that he doesn’t complain, however, and they follow Ash to a booth in the back.

Ash is apparently already well known by the other patrons of the bar; several of them raise mugs or bottles of beer at him as they pass, nodding politely at the Winchesters as they follow behind him. It reminds Sam and Dean of the Roadhouse in a lot of ways, and a wave of nostalgia washes over them.

They sit in the booth, and Ash holds up his hand, four fingers raised, and then circles the table to indicate that he’s asking for a round of beers. Whomever it was that he was signaling must have acknowledged the request, because he lowers his arm less than a minute later. He folds his hands together on the weathered table and leans forward.

“All right boys, what’s goin’ on? Cuz much as I like seeing a familiar face now and then, I have to say, being back here after being in my own private Idaho, if you will, is not really floating my boat.”

“We were kinda hoping you’d be able to tell us that, Ash,” Dean says.

“Dude, they didn’t even give me so much as a Cliff’s Notes to this latest little clusterfuck of yours.”

“What makes you think it’s ours?” Sam asks.

Ash looks at John pointedly, and then indicates himself. “Winchesters. Isn’t it always you guys?”

Dean looks like he’s going to protest this, but he changes his mind when he realizes that Ash has a fair point. If there’s something supernaturally strange going on these days, it’s most likely connected to them. Except for that thing with the weather in Europe. Totally nothing to do with them. He’s pretty sure.

“Fine. It’s got something to do with us, what _do_ you know?” Dean asks.

A waitress with long blonde hair and bright pink lipstick comes over with their beer. She winks at Ash as she puts the mugs and the pitcher on the table, and asks if there’s anything else that she can get for them. They shake their heads, and she sashays away. Ash watches her go, and then elbows Dean, who’s sitting next to him. “Yep, I’ve still got it.”

Dean laughs, and feels lighter than he’s felt since this whole thing started, maybe because there’s something comforting in knowing that absolutely nothing about Ash has changed, not even after all this time. It’s like returning to a familiar place and being able to fit back in as if nothing’s happened since the last time you were there.

They drink their beers and chat about random things for a few minutes, circling around the topic rather than focusing in on it, as if they want to avoid it for as long as possible. John’s fiddling with one of the napkins, shredding it into little pieces on the table, and Dean watches with a sharp eye. John’s been tense the last day or so, more tense than usual, even for him, his shoulders more hunched. He sends glances Dean’s way, looking like he wants to say something, but then thinking better of it, and Dean’s about ten minutes away from demanding that John say what’s bothering him.

He doesn’t though, not only because a bar isn’t the best place to have a confrontation, but because he’s just too tired. He glances at his watch several times, trying not to look like he wants to leave, but he wants to leave.

Dean’s startled out of his thoughts by an elbow in the stomach from Ash. “Dude, what?” Dean asks, scowling.

“Makin’ sure you’re paying attention. The doctor is in.”

Dean tries not to roll his eyes. “You got thoughts about this?”

Ash shrugs, and leans towards the center of the table, indicating that the Winchester men should do so too. They do, and Ash says, “The people comin’ back, there’s no rhyme or reason to ‘em, far as I can tell. Just random people comin’ back.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, staring at a point just beyond Sam’s shoulder. “But it is interesting that two of the folks back are people you boys know.” Ash points at Sam and Dean. “Don’t you think that’s interesting?”

Sam does, and he nods his head. “Yeah, when Winchesters are involved, it tends not to be coincidence.” There’s a general murmur of agreement from everyone around the table.

“Ash, do you have a mark on your back?” John asks.

“Looks like a lower case u, but it’s really a Greek letter? Yep. You?” Ash answers, and John says that he does. Sam pulls out his cellphone to show them the picture of the one on Adele’s back.

“You sure it’s a Greek letter, Ash?” Sam asks. He ignores Dean’s glare.

“Well, it could be any number of things, depending on how you look at it, but the first thing that comes to mind is that _mu_ , so that’s what I’m going with.”

Just then, Dean’s cellphone rings, and it’s Cas, so he excuses himself from the table and steps out of the bar into the relative fresh air of the parking lot.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, grateful to hear the deep tones of the angel.

“Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“Exhausted, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas hums an empathetic response. “What about you?”

“Much the same. I will be finished here within a few hours, though. I’ll be able to help you figure out what’s going on.”

Dean grins for the first time in what feels like days, and says, “That’s awesome, Cas.” Dean catches Cas up on what they’ve found out so far, and he tells Dean that he may have a few avenues of inquiry to explore. They chat for a few more minutes. Right before they hang up, Dean says, “Miss you, Cas.”

There’s the soft sound of laughter from the other end of the line, and Cas says, “And I you. I’ll be there soon.” They say their goodbyes and hang up. Dean stays out in the parking lot for a few more minutes, holding onto the warm feeling that talking with Cas had generated, and then breathes in deeply, preparing to go back into the bar.

The noise level of the bar has lessened somewhat due to the fact that about a third of the patrons have called it a night, and Dean wends his way through the maze of empty tables back to the booth. Ash and Sam are intensely discussing some theory that it’s quite clear John does not agree with, as he’s sitting back, his arms folded across his chest. He looks like he’s eaten half a lemon, and his brows are knitted.

Dean slides into the booth next to Ash, and tips his head towards Ash and Sam. “What’re they talking about?”

John shakes his head. “Ash thinks it’s angels, Sam thinks it could be a demi-god.”

“And you don’t agree with either of them,” Dean says. It’s not a question, because the answer is clearly written in John’s body language.

“I don’t agree with Ash.” John sighs. “Look, if your friend, the angel guy–“

“Cas.”

“ _Cas_. Says it’s not angels, and you trust him, then it’s not angels, right?”

Dean nods, although there’s a small, traitorous part of his brain that pipes up and says that any angel involved in this might not necessarily tell Cas what they were up to, especially if it involves Winchesters.

“Demi-god or god is more likely, but there are only so many that can do this…” John says, trailing off. “We need to find out the scale of this thing.”

Dean agrees with John, but he’s not sure that they have the capability of figuring that out here. Back in Sioux Falls again, they don’t have access to the bunker and all the resources it offers. They’ve been criss-crossing the midwest for the last few days, and they really need to get back to their home base. Dean twists his back to get a crick out of it. If for no other reason than the motel cots he’s been relegated to wreak havoc with his spinal cord.

“We need to get to the bunker,” Dean says.

Sam overhears this. “We do.”

“Bunker?” Ash asks, and Sam fills him in on the Men of Letters. “Oh man, that’s awesome. I can’t wait to see this place.”


	9. Chapter 9

One more night in Jody’s house, and they’re back on the road. This time they’re headed to the bunker, and they don’t plan to let anything distract them. It’s not a long drive, not in comparison to some of their other ones, and since they left early, they’re back in Lebanon by just after lunch time.

Dean’s inexplicably nervous about introducing both John and Ash to the bunker, and he’s not really sure why. They drive up to the door and park, Ash leaping out of the car practically before it’s stopped moving. He’s been antsy most of the trip, like he’s uncomfortable about being stuck in one place for so long, but Dean thinks it’s just excitement.

The rest of them get out of the car and head to the door that looks much like the entrance to a home in the Shire, and the fact that the majority of the bunker is underground definitely accentuates that particular image. Dean pulls the key out and unlocks the door, hollering hello to let Kevin know they're there. Kevin pokes his head out from the library and smiles tentatively when he sees that Sam and Dean have brought visitors with them.

Dean introduces everyone, and Ash begins to pepper Kevin with questions about life in the bunker, most of which Kevin answers with a shrug or a monosyllable. Not much for trusting strangers, Kevin prefers to stay in the background until he's had the chance to make his own judgement. John stands in the center of the war room and stares around at everything, the old technology that lines the walls, the map on the lighted table in the center, the bulletin boards filled with newspaper clippings and notes. John walks up to one of the boards and peers at it more closely, examining a few of the post-it notes attached to some of the clippings. He grunts, but it's unclear whether it's an approving grunt or something else.

"Come on, Dad, Ash, let's give you the tour," Dean says, and Sam appears at Dean's elbow, prepared to walk through the bunker with them. They start in the library, and John's eyes light up at the prospect of all of the lore contained therein. They've only had possession of the bunker for just over a year or so, and haven't had the chance to look through everything, though they are making inroads. Having technological help from Charlie goes a long way, and she's been great at not only helping them catalog things in the bunker, but also in keeping them focused and organized.

Next on the tour is the residential area of the bunker, and they point out various closed doors: "Kevin sleeps there, and Charlie uses that one when she stays over. We'll pick out rooms for you guys," Dean says.

They go into Sam's room, a few doors down the hallway. It's wall-to-wall books, and there’s another laptop on his desk, which is piled high with papers. A couple of thick volumes from the library lie open, and there are a few scattered pens and pencils lying about. The walls are bare, though, and the room has a temporary feel to it, as if Sam’s not sure that he’s going to use it for very much longer. Sam dumps his duffle on the bed, which is neatly made, and then gestures back into the hallway.

Dean's room, by contrast, is more decorated, his knives and various guns hanging on one wall, a stack of albums lovingly placed next to a record player, and pictures on the nightstand next to the left side of the bed. The wall opposite has much less decorating it than the wall with the weapons, but there are four paintings that together create one image. They're modern looking, more splashes of color than coherent shapes or forms, but they bring to mind the notion of blooming flowers on a tree branch, perhaps cherry blossoms. The blooms are brightly painted, standing out in contrast against a graduated dark background. There's a small shelf on the wall as well, which contains a small pile of leaves carefully selected and saved for their colors: reds, oranges and brilliant yellows. Like Sam's bed, Dean's is also neatly made. Where Sam's bed had one pillow, this one has four, piled neatly at the head of the bed. John raises an eyebrow at this obvious luxury. _It’s interesting,_ he thinks, _that Sam’s room is so utilitarian, while Dean’s is so... well, homey._

Dean puts his duffle on one of the chairs in the room and ushers them back into the hallway, directing them to a couple of rooms at the far end. "Here's where you can sleep." The room is small, like the others, and utilitarian, with only one lamp and a bed. "I'll grab you some sheets and a pillow later." John refrains from remarking that they could just take a pillow from Dean's bed, although he kind of wants to. Ash gets the room across the hall.

They continue on their tour, showing him the shooting range and the gym space. The sheer size of the bunker is overwhelming, just when John thinks they've come to the last of the rooms, there are still more. There's the file room, the store room, and then the dungeon. Dean tries not to look too excited by the dungeon, but he takes John around the room, showing him every shackle and chain in the place.

Upon returning to the library, Sam disappears to his room to unpack and start some laundry. He leaves Dean, John and Ash staring at each other, with little idea of what to do next, but Sam kind of feels like he needs to have a few minutes to himself. He sends a quick text to Jody to let her know he’s thinking about her, and sets about sorting the laundry.

They haven’t been gone that long, not really, not compared to how much they used to be on the road, but they’d only packed enough for a few days, and it turned into a week. Most of his clothes are beyond rank, and he can’t wait to get them clean again.

Sam knows that the bunker is Dean’s home, in ways that it’s not for Sam. He’s not sure what or where home might be. He had hoped it would be with Jess, then Amelia, but neither of those had worked out. While they hurt a little less with each passing day, they still hurt a great deal, like poking at a still healing wound. He thinks about Jody, about how they find refuge in each other, but he’s not sure that her home could be his home. There are too many memories for her there, and she hasn’t been able to move beyond them yet, he doesn’t think. Like his memories, they’re still raw, painful at times, and she’s taking her time to let that scar tissue grow. He’s content to stay by her side for however long she needs, knowing that they are good for each other, that they complement each other in many ways.

When he returns from getting the first load of laundry started, Cas stands in the middle of his room, waiting for him.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says.

Cas looks up and smiles at him, a warm thing that he reserves only for Sam. Sam can’t help but return the smile, pleased beyond measure that they’ve managed to become friends after their rocky beginnings. A small part of him used to be a tiny bit jealous of Dean’s friendship with Cas, but when their own friendship developed, that dropped away. Sam and Cas share many things in common, including a frequent propensity for exasperation with Dean, and they’ve become quite fond of each other.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says. “Sorry to barge in.”

Sam shrugs. “No worries. Anything on your mind?”

Cas hesitates, looking at his hands, but then he forges ahead. “Dean…” he pauses, reluctant to talk about this, knowing that Dean is a private person. But Sam knows Dean as well as Dean knows Sam, and he has an idea of what Cas is concerned about.

“He hasn’t said anything to Dad, no.” Sam watches Cas carefully for a moment. “This bothers you.”

The slope of Cas’s shoulders sags, and he nods. “It’s difficult for him, I understand. But– I wish that–“

Sam dips his head in recognition. “He wants to tell Dad. He does, Cas.” Sam settles on the edge of his bed, one that really isn’t quite long enough, but he hasn’t gotten around to finding a better mattress yet. He gestures that Cas sit next to him, and Cas does.

“Cas, he’s had to hide who he is from Dad forever. He hid it from everyone, even me, for years, and…” Sam blows out a long breath. “The only reason he ever said anything to me is because I confronted him about it. Being bisexual in the hunting world… it’s not easy, and he was so angry when I asked him about it that he didn’t talk to me for days. Refused to say anything. I thought he was going to punch me.” He laughs ruefully. “Kind of wish he had, it was worse watching him try to be something else.”

Cas considers this for a moment, his head bobbing up and down as he sees this in his mind’s eye. He can see Dean angrily denying it, drawing in on himself and cornering up with his fears, setting up a moat and a wall with the drawbridge up so no one can get inside. “I worry that he’s going back to that.” He thinks back to his earlier conversation with Dean, the one that was more stilted than usual.

Sam’s face melts into an expression of something that’s not quite sorrow. “He’ll be back though. He’ll realize he’s being a moron and he’ll be back. He loves you.” Sam claps Cas on the back, suddenly uncomfortable talking about his brother’s feelings. He clears his throat. “Give him some time.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, standing up. He heads to the door, but turns back before leaving the room entirely. “Dean is lucky to have you as a brother. And I’m lucky to have you as my friend.”

He shuts the door behind him, leaving Sam sitting on his bed alone in his room. He thinks about Dean and Cas together, how good they are for each other, and picks up his phone, staring at his last text to Jody. Suddenly, the text isn’t enough, and he dials her number. When she picks up, he smiles, her smoky voice warming him from the inside out. “Hey.”


	10. Chapter 10

Charlie drops by that evening with a ton of research, already organized into categories; location, gender, age, race, circumstances of the death of the person, way in which they came back. Based on the newspaper clippings and online articles she’s put together, coupled with the information that Ash and Sam have collected, it becomes clear that everyone came back at around the same time, when John did. Other than that, there is little to no other pattern to the returns, as they’ve begun to call them.

Every return appeared within a few yards of the location of loved ones, and have little to no recollection of being dead.

“That makes us the exception,” John comments, tilting his chin at Ash, whose head is buried in Sam’s laptop, with Charlie sitting next to him, equally engrossed in her iPad. Ash raises his hand to indicate that he’s heard John, and that he agrees, but he doesn’t  look away from whatever it is he’s researching.

They’re all seated around the table in the library, and John looks around it at all the people that his sons have gathered around them in the years since he’s been gone. There’s the young prophet, Kevin, who looks too tired and world-worn to be only twenty-one years old. There are the two computer wizards, Charlie and Ash, Charlie’s bright smile and cheerful disposition bringing a much needed mood boost to the gloomy bunker. John had noticed the warm embrace that Dean had given her when she came in, but there’s no other body language between the two of them to indicate that she might be the person Dean had been on the phone with the other night.

Finally, there’s the angel, the one who looks like he fits in the best with his sons, the one who should fit in the least, given his otherworldly nature. And yet he’s an integral third component, one that completes a triad that John hadn’t expected to exist. It’s as if Sam and Dean had been waiting for Castiel to show up and join them. Dean and Castiel sit close by each other, heads bent together as they flip through some of Charlie’s notes together. They work well together, seeming to have a kind of unspoken language where they don’t need to talk, but can give each other a look or tap on a paragraph on a piece of paper and know what the other means. How much of that is because Castiel is an angel? John wonders.

“Guys, there’s something else,” Ash says, just as Charlie hits him on the upper arm in excitement. She’s pulled something up on her iPad.  They all look up eagerly, waiting to hear what they have to say.

Charlie holds up the iPad, showing everyone the headline she’s enlarged on it. “It’s not just people coming back from the dead. It’s people dying without warning, too.” She pulls up the list, and begins rattling off names. “It’s not just people dying of cancer or heart attacks or strokes, either. It’s like every manner of death you could imagine and even some that…” she trails off. “Well, maybe you guys could imagine these.” She shows the iPad to Dean, who reads it aloud.

“Hit by a bus. Choked on a peach pit, smothered to death, tripped and fell on an ax blade, struck by a baseball. One guy was sucked into an airplane engine… and one dude overdosed on carrot juice? Jesus, is that even possible?” Dean asks. He looks at Sam, who shrugs, the corners of his mouth turned down in a well-practiced sturgeon face. “This list is pretty long, and…” Dean pauses, the color draining from his face. “Holy shit. I know these two.”

Charlie takes the iPad out of Dean’s suddenly loose grasp. “Yeah, that’s why I thought you should see it.”

“What? Who?” Sam’s up and out of his chair, looming over Charlie to get a look at the names. “Damian? Barnes? Who are they?”

Dean scrubs his face. “The guys from that convention. The Supernatural convention.”

Sam looks confused for a minute, but then his face clears. “Oh. The cosplayers.”

Dean nods, slumping in his chair. “Yeah. Those guys.” Everyone around the table is quiet for a long moment.

“What happened to them?” Kevin asks, breaking the silence and asking the question that they all wanted to know the answer to.

Charlie looks down at the iPad. “Asphyxiation. Gas leak in their house.”

Sam swallows. “How do we know that these deaths aren’t all just horrible coincidences?”

“We don’t. But we’re gonna find out. Come on, we’ve got some autopsy reports to check out.” Dean stomps out of the library, leaving everyone else staring at each other in his wake.

Cas finds Dean dumping his clothing out of his duffle and muttering to himself in his room. He starts when Cas slides up behind him and places a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

“You going to be okay?” Cas asks.

Dean grimaces. He sniffs a shirt to see if it might last through another wearing, and rears back. The shirt is beyond foul, smelling of sweat and road dust and who-knows-what-else. He tosses it in the direction of the laundry basket, not even bothering to sort just yet.

“Yeah,” Dean says, but then he plops down on the end of the bed. “No.” He sighs. “I liked those guys, Cas. I mean, yeah, it was weird, meeting them while they were playing me and Sammy, but…” Dean shrugs. “They were good guys. They didn’t deserve this. Whatever is doing this, I’m gonna destroy it.”

Cas sits next to Dean on their bed, and Dean leans into his warmth, not quite touching his friend, exquisitely aware that the door is open, and anyone – John – could walk by at any moment. “Even if it means sending your father, Ash, and all those other people back?”

Dean sags, the righteous rage that had been holding him up flying out of him like air out of a popped balloon.  “Shit.” He covers his face with his hands and repeats the word a few times, the sound muffled. “Cas, I–“

Cas squeezes the back of Dean’s neck lightly, just once. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he says, and Dean nods. He’s grateful that Cas has relieved him of having to make a decision now, but also feeling guilty about it at the same time, the knowledge that they could potentially ruin the lives of hundreds of people – again – sitting heavy in his gut. He grunts and gets up, eyeing his closet carefully, trying to decide what to bring with him.

“We should split up,” Dean says, and Cas hums in agreement. “We can go check out Damien and Barnes, and Sam can go check out a couple of the other bodies.” Dean pulls a couple of plaid shirts out of the closet and lays them on the bed next to Cas. He turns back to the closet and looks at his suits thoughtfully. He’s built up quite a collection since they settled in the bunker; ranging in color from black to charcoal grey up to blue in varying shades, the suits also vary in material as well. He pulls out a dark grey tweed jacket, holds it up for Cas to see, and sets it aside. He gets the matching pants and a dark blue tie with concentric circles and sets them on the bed to be packed. He works through the rest of the closet methodically, picking out one more suit, just in case, and then turns to his dresser for more casual clothing.

The sound of someone clearing his throat from the doorway startles Dean out of his packing meditation, and both he and Cas look up to see John watching Dean. “Got enough clothes?” John asks.

Dean shrugs. “Never know how many times you’re gonna have to interview the same folks. Can’t show up wearing the same thing day after day.” Cas stays silent, content to watch the interchange between father and son.

“Uh huh.” John pushes off the door jamb and comes into the room. “How many ties you have?” He peers into the closet, and then pulls back out again, eyeing Dean narrowly. “How big is this thing?”

“Standard closet-sized, I guess.” Dean is at the dresser, taking out boxer briefs and socks, counting out enough for both Cas and him, not really paying attention.

John grunts. “I don’t think your mom’s closet was this big.” He peers back into it again, stepping in. The closet is big enough that a grown man could stand inside, but anyone else would make the space exceedingly uncomfortable. The closet is filled with clothing, jackets, suits, shirts, and even several pairs of shoes and boots. Dean’s put everything away neatly, according to a system of his own devising. John picks one of the jackets and takes it off the hanger. It’s a multi-pocketed, green army surplus jacket, and it shows quite a bit of wear in the elbows. He puts it back on the hanger after looking at it for a few minutes. He runs his fingers across several other jackets. He’s so focused on the clothing that he doesn’t notice Cas glaring at him from the bed, or Dean standing still at the dresser, a pile of underwear and socks in his arms.

John turns around and looks at the other side of the closet, where there are still more clothes, a couple of pairs of dark suits, more over shirts, and about five different pairs of cargo pants. Dean shoots Cas a pained look. John grunts again and steps back into the room.

From this angle, John can see the costumes. Aside from the shelf of hats, there’s an array of outfits, including medieval dress and a suit from the 1940s. Each outfit is lovingly put away in separate plastic garment bags. John pokes his head out of the closet. “What’re all these?” He points at the costumes.

“Clothes, Dad. The suit,” Dean points at the 1940s suit. “I traveled back to 1944, and I needed something to wear. Seemed a shame to get rid of it, it’s a good suit. Met Eliot Ness.” John nods like this makes sense. Like traveling back in time is something that happens frequently. He gives a mental shrug, because apparently it’s part of what Winchesters do.

“And this… is this a cowboy hat?” John asks, lifting it off the shelf.

Dean grins. “1861. Sam met Samuel Colt.” He bounces. He’d enjoyed that particular trip back in time, but when he glances at Cas, he sees Cas grimacing. Not the best of times for Cas, then.

“Sam met Samuel Colt,” John says, and he feels like the floor is tilting beneath him. “The Samuel Colt.”

“Yep.” Dean dumps the socks and underwear into the duffle, suddenly aware that he’s got them in his arms. Cas pulls the bag close and begins to arrange the socks.

“So not all horrible, then?” John asks, a hopeful note in his voice. The tilted feeling is still there, he’s off kilter from all of Dean’s revelations, which come either in a trickle, like a dripping faucet, or fast and furious, like a downpour.

Dean considers the question for a moment. “Guess not always.” He shrugs. “Some good stuff comes out of it, in the long run.” Cas gives a soft grunt behind him, studiously focusing on the duffle in front of him, despite the fact that the underwear and socks are well and truly organized at this point.

John smiles at that, the off feeling soothed somewhat. “So, you gonna tell me about this girl in your life?” he asks. Before Dean can respond, he says, “And don’t tell me there’s no girl, because I saw you on the phone the other day. You’ve got someone.”

Dean rocks back on his heels, and Cas finally stops pretending to pack the duffle. Cas stares at the back of Dean’s head, and Dean can feel it. His mouth is suddenly dry, and his brain whirls about. _This is it_ , he thinks. _Now’s the time, you idiot, just…say it_. When he opens his mouth, though, nothing comes out, and he stands there, gaping like a fish. The smile runs away from John’s face. Behind Dean, Cas makes an irritated tsking sound, and stalks out of the room, his shoulder bumping against Dean as he goes.

“Cas…” Dean says, but he doesn’t go after his friend, frozen beneath the hardened gaze of his father.

“What’s that all about?” John asks. “He not like your girl?”

Dean sighs heavily and sits in the spot Cas recently vacated. “There’s no girl, Dad,” Dean says.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean,” John says, and he steps forward, looming over the bed.

Dean glares up at him, his jaw set, and John takes a step back. “There’s no girl. I’m not lying about that. It’s–” Dean stands up again. “I’m not having this conversation right now. I need to…” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder and goes after Cas. He’s in the library, hanging out in between two of the large bookcases. Dean knows that John’s followed him out of his room; John calls his name a couple of times, but Dean ignores him in favor of finding Cas.

Cas glares at him when Dean rounds the corner. “Cas–“ Dean says, but Cas cuts him off.

“No, Dean. You can’t– I don’t want you hiding who you are.” Cas hesitates, because he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Dean to say something. “I don’t want you to hide me.”

“Cas, you don’t know what it’s like–“ Dean begins, but it’s the wrong thing to say, because Cas’s jaw sets.

“I don’t need a reminder that I’m not human, Dean. There are many things that I don’t understand about being human, and being someone’s child is definitely one of them.” Cas scrubs his face. “I thought I could give you the time you needed, but…Dean, that was the perfect opportunity.”

“I know, Cas! I know! I opened my mouth to say it, and nothing came out, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize!” Cas’s voice rises, carrying in the large, echoing room. “I want you to _want_ to tell your father about us. I want you to be so happy about us, about who you are, that you have to share it. With everyone.”

Dean cups Cas’s face between his palms and kisses him, barely pulling away to say gently, “Cas, I am.” Cas snorts, the hurt and disbelief plain on his face.

Cas is about to respond when they’re interrupted by John’s voice. “What the hell–” They turn around, startled. John’s standing at the opening between the two bookcases, staring at them. Dean straightens at the sight of his father, throwing his shoulders back to stand a little taller, letting his hands fall to his sides. He steps closer to Cas, rather than away, and threads their fingers together lightly.

“Dad–“ Dean starts.

“So, not a girl then,” John says, waving his hand at Cas. “How long?”

“We’ve been together about a year, Dad.”

“So… you’re gay then?” John asks slowly, like he’s trying to work something complicated out.

Dean shakes his head, a short, jerky movement. “No. Bisexual. I like both men and women.”

John laughs, a brittle sound, like glass. “So you can’t decide.”

Dean just manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t work that way.” He stops himself. “It doesn’t matter what it means. Cas and I are together.” Cas nods his head, confirming what Dean has said.

“He’s not even human, Dean. How do you know… how do you know you can trust him?”

“Jesus, Dad. Don’t talk about Cas like he’s not even here.”

“Dean and I have been through enough together to know we can trust each other.” He squeezes Dean’s hand lightly. “Implicitly.”

John takes a step forward, looming into the small space. “How do I know you’re not…” he stops. “How do I know you’re not just exerting some kind of influence over him? Making him…” John waves his hand at Dean, to show that he’s encompassing everything that stands before him. “ _This_?”

“What? Dad, that’s ridiculous.”

It’s Cas’s turn to take a step forward now, and he puffs his chest up, speaking low and dark. “I am not the one trying to make Dean into something he’s not.” He’s beautifully fierce now, glowering with wrath. “And I’m not the one who can’t see Dean for who he is, beautiful in his imperfections.”

Dean’s got enough of his sense of humor left to snort and murmur, “Thanks, Cas.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” John says. “But Dean is my son, and you don’t get to speak to me that way.”

“I will speak to you in the manner I see fit,” Cas says, and he grows within the confined space.

At the same time, Dean slides between Cas and John. “Okay, no one is speaking to anyone in any way, okay? Dad, if you can’t accept this,” Dean waves his hand between Cas and himself. “And you can’t accept me, then…” he trails off, because he can’t exactly demand that John leave, there’s nowhere for him to go. And they still have this mystery of where he came from to solve. He’s saved from having to issue an ultimatum by Sam coming up behind John.

“Dad.” Sam puts his hand on John’s shoulder, his voice quiet and calm. “Come on.” He gently pulls John toward him, away from Dean and Cas.

“Sam, don’t.” John says, trying to shake off Sam’s hand, but Sam’s insistent, and he doesn’t let go.

“You don’t have to, Sam,” Dean says. “It’s fine. We have to finish packing.” He pulls Cas with him out of the library, leaving John and Sam. Charlie and Ash, who had been working at the far end of the long table suddenly find something of great interest on the laptop screen in front of them, though they had been listening very hard a few moments earlier. Charlie hides her face with her bright hair, but from her rigid stance hovering behind Ash’s shoulder, it’s clear that she’s angry.

Sam turns to face John dead on, looking him square in the eye. “All I’m going to say is that Dean’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Ever. You said once that you wanted Dean to have a home. Well, he does. Here, with Cas.” He waits a beat, and then claps John on the shoulder and leaves him standing in the space between the bookcases looking somewhat at sea.

John doesn’t show up for dinner, opting to hide out in his room while the rest of them eat. Dean’s whipped up a huge batch of spaghetti and meat sauce, and they’re all gathered around the table in the library, since the table in the kitchen is really only big enough for four.

They’re chattering about not much of anything; Ash and Charlie share their best hacking stories, most of which end with “And then I had to move and get a new alias,” but just about everyone’s in stitches, and even Cas smiles broadly.

After dinner, Charlie and Kevin volunteer to clean up, and Dean, Sam and Cas head to a corner of the war room to plan out their next steps.

“We should split up, check out all the different bodies, find out if they have the symbol that the Returns have,” Sam says.

“I was thinking the same thing, Sammy,” Dean says, sticking a pen in his mouth while he thinks. “Cas and Charlie’ll come with me.”

“You want me to take Dad?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “Might be easier.”

“Is there an advantage to him going with either of you?” Cas asks. “Shouldn’t he and Ash stay here, just in case?”

“In case of what?” Sam asks, though he thinks he knows where Cas is going with this.

“In case whatever this is comes back and decides to take them again. For all we know, that’s the end game.”

“Cas, we don’t know either way. And none of the Returns have been killed. Charlie and Ash looked,” Sam says. “Look, we may need all the help we can get, and Dad’s a good hunter.”

Cas looks like he’s been chewing on a slice of lemon. “He was a good hunter. You don’t know what he’s like now. He’s been dead for ten years.”

“Cas,” Dean says, and Cas shrugs and mutters something that sounds like it might be, “Fine.”

“I’ll take Dad and Ash. He’s got a map of the closest deaths, we’ll check them out and see what we can find out,” Sam says, and Dean murmurs agreement. They talk for a few more minutes about where they’re going to go, how many places they’re going to check out, and then they call it a night. It’s been an emotional roller coaster of a day for them, and they’re kind of exhausted. Dean and Cas poke their heads into the kitchen to say goodnight, and Charlie calls to them to wait a second while she dries her hands.

She loops her arms in Dean and Cas’s walking between the two of them down the hall towards their room. “I’m not going to be a buttinsky–“ Dean snorts. “I’m _not_ ,” Charlie insists. “But I’m gonna say that if you need anything, seriously, anything, I’m your woman, okay? I’ll Hermione something up for you.”

“What could we possibly need…” Cas begins, but Charlie shushes him.

“Anything, Cas. _Anything_.” Charlie gets a gleam in her eye. “I am very creative when I need to be.” She leans up and kisses both of them on their cheeks. “Good night guys.” She gives them both a gentle shove into their room and closes the door behind her. Cas looks at Dean, who just smiles and shrugs. Cas pulls Dean into his arms. Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck and inhales deeply, like he needs Cas’s scent to live.

They stand entangled together for a few long minutes, needing the quiet space of each other. Then, by unspoken agreement, they pull apart. Dean wordlessly finishes packing, while Cas brushes his teeth. Dean sets the duffle by the bed and joins Cas at the sink to brush his teeth as well, and they stand next to each other, jostling elbows, laughing lightly as they purposely get in each other’s way.

Getting undressed for bed, they tease each other, pulling off their clothes slowly, exposing smooth skin inch by inch. Dean grins at Cas, wiggles his hips, and Cas watches Dean closely, letting his eyes roam up and down his friend’s body. They’re baiting each other, not meaning to really start anything. They need some moments of levity to rid themselves of the nasty taste in their mouths from the events of earlier in the afternoon.

They clamber into bed, the room lit only by a low lamp on the night stand, and they cuddle beneath the covers. It’s not cold, not even that cool, but Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling his friend closer. They’ve opted to sleep naked, wanting to feel the warm slide of skin from head to toe. Dean leans over to turn out the light, and they’re cast into darkness, only a sliver of moonlight coming in from the high rectangular window in the corner.

“It went badly today,” Cas says. “With your father.” His voice just above a whisper, but not quite. The dark of the room encourages the quiet, and Cas is loathe to break that.

Dean shrugs, the movement shifting him slightly against Cas’s body. He turns so he can see Cas’s face. “It went about how I expected it to.”

Cas runs his hand through Dean’s hair, slowly, and Dean arches up into the movement like a cat, his eyes drifting closed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten angry about it.” He continues to stroke Dean’s hair, the motion lulling both of them closer to sleep.

“Hmm. No, you were right.” Dean shifts and rests his head on Cas’s chest. “Shouldn’t hide.” His words are slow, slurred by exhaustion. As he’s drifting off to sleep, he thinks he hears Cas say something else, but he can’t be sure. He tries to remind himself to ask Cas about it in the morning, but he’s fast asleep before he can settle the thought. Cas, too, falls asleep, and the sound of their breathing, even and deep, fills the room.


	11. Chapter 11

John’s up early in the morning, so by the time everyone else is awake, there’s already a pot of coffee brewed, its aroma tempting the residents of the bunker from down the hallway. He’s poking around in the fridge looking for something to make for breakfast when Dean comes in, first as usual. Dean likes to be up early, despite the fact that Cas likes to sleep in, because Dean enjoys making breakfast.

So Dean’s surprised when he sees John, his head stuck in the fridge, humming something to himself.

Dean takes a breath and says, “Morning, Dad.”

John turns around, startled by his son’s voice. “Hey, Dean. Didn’t hear you come in. You got fixin’s in here for french toast?”

“I can make it, if you want.” Dean opens a cabinet and takes out the cinnamon, and then pulls out a loaf of bread, which he starts to slice up.

“No, I want to make it. Really.” John gives Dean a hopeful look, and since Dean’s not quite sure what to do with that, he hands over the loaf of bread and slides the bread knife towards John.

“Okay. Um. I’ll just… grab some coffee then.” Dean steps around John, feeling awkward and useless, a feeling he’s unused to having in his own kitchen. John sets about making french toast, and Dean has to stop himself from commenting on what John’s doing. He rolls his eyes at himself and grabs a second mug out of one of the cupboards, pouring a cup for Cas. “I’m gonna bring this to Cas,” he says, holding up the mug. John turns and nods, his hesitation obvious.

Cas is still asleep, his head buried beneath the covers, a tuft of black hair peeking out. Dean puts the cup for Cas on the stand on Cas’s side of the bed, then climbs in on his side, careful not to spill. He leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of Cas’s head. “Cas, it’s time to get up. I brought you coffee.” Cas grunts, but instead of burrowing under the covers, as he usually does, a hand snakes out, and he holds it up. When Dean doesn’t do anything, he snaps his fingers and says something that might be, “coffee”. Dean chuckles. He puts his own coffee down and leans over Cas to get Cas’s cup.

“Come on, you big baby, wake up.” Dean waves his hand over the mug to encourage the scent of the coffee to waft toward Cas. There’s no movement from under the covers for a minute, and then Cas emerges, scowling. He blinks like an owl in the light of the room, and then takes the mug of coffee.

“Thank you,” he says, sipping it. He hesitates, then sips it again. “You didn’t make this.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t, Dad did. How can you tell?”

Cas drinks some more coffee. “Cinnamon. You don’t put cinnamon in coffee. It’s in this.”

Dean grabs his own mug and drinks some, trying to see if he can taste the cinnamon. It’s subtle, smoothing out the coffee, just there as an after taste. “Huh.”

They drink their coffee for a few minutes. Then Cas says, “I think he’s trying to apologize.”

“What?” Dean asks. “With cinnamon in the coffee?”

Cas shrugs, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he does. “Maybe. Would he actually say anything?”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “Probably not. I don’t know if he’s ever apologized.” Dean puts his cup down and presses a kiss to Cas’s shoulder. “You need to get dressed.”

Cas looks down at himself, still naked, the sheet barely covering him. He glances at Dean, who’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers underneath his robe. “Why?” He grins and winks. “Maybe you need to get undressed.” He begins plucking at the robe.

“Cas, we have to get going, remember? Dead bodies to see.”

Cas snorts and downs the rest of his coffee. “You always say the most romantic things.” He leans over and kisses Dean before pulling away to get up. They dress quickly, pulling on jeans, and Cas digs out a t-shirt from the dresser – one of Dean’s. He always manages to find Dean’s t-shirts in the dresser, no matter how many of his own are in there. Dean smiles when he sees Cas’s messy head appearing through the top, though, because other than naked Cas? Cas dressed in his clothes is Dean’s favorite thing.

They head down the hallway toward the lively sounds of breakfast emanating from the kitchen, their shoulders bumping. Everyone’s in there, either sitting at the table and eating – Ash, Kevin and Charlie – or leaning against the counter and drinking coffee – John and Sam. They all look up and greet Dean and Cas as they enter the kitchen, and it’s like _Cheers_ , enthusiastic hellos from everyone, wishing them a good morning. Dean can’t help but smile. It’s not quite what he’d imagined his life would be growing up, but this much warmth and friendliness in his kitchen is still pretty damn awesome. Cas gives him a small smile over the edge of his mug, which Dean returns. John looks a little unsettled by the look they’ve shared, but he doesn’t voice whatever’s going on in his head, instead opting to offer Dean a refill on his coffee.

Breakfast finishes up smoothly, with Sam and Charlie cleaning up afterwards. The argument comes when it’s time to go. John insists on going with Dean and Cas.

“Are you sure, Dad?" Sam asks, when he sees that both Dean and Cas are too stunned to say anything.

John's brows draw together in a frown. "Yes, I am. What's with all the questions? Don't we have a monster to hunt?"

"Fine," Sam says, and they begin the process of reorganizing who is going where and with whom. Charlie puts up a fuss about who she's going with, because now that John's traveling with Dean and Cas, she needs to go with Ash and Sam.

"Listen up, handmaiden, I'm going with you whether you want me to or not," she says, her eyes flashing. John raises an eyebrow at the nickname, but Dean just folds his arms over his chest.

"We talked about this Charlie. This isn't Moondor, this is my world. Here you gotta do what I say, not the other way around." He softens his tone as he says this, and crouches down to make sure he catches her eye. She looks back at him, fifteen or so arguments leaping to mind, but she doesn't use any of them, because she knows, ultimately, that Dean is right.

She sighs in resignation and flops over to Sam's car, an old SUV that they'd found in the depths of Singer Salvage. Sam, Dean and Cas had worked together on it, putting it back together and getting it into tip-top shape. Even though it can't hold a candle to the Impala, it really is Sam's car. Dean kind of thinks of it as "their" car, since the three of them worked on it together. There's a lot of Winchester (both actual and adopted) sweat in the SUV, and even a little blood as well.

They drive off in opposite directions, leaving Kevin in the bunker, promising to check in with each other every evening. Dean, John and Cas head east, toward Ohio. Along the way, Dean tries to explain to John about LARPing, the Supernatural convention and the Winchester Gospels...

"The what?!" John asks from the backseat.

"The Winchester Gospels, as written by the prophet Chuck," Cas explains. It's the first thing Cas has said to John all morning, and they've been driving for nearly three hours. Dean's starting to look for a place to stop and eat; the drive's been uneventful, for the most part, even boring. The endless farmland that extends in all directions has only made the drive that much more monotonous. Dean had managed to keep up enough chatter to fend off the worst of the boredom, but he’s antsy from the tension in the car, tendrils of anxiety crawling along his shoulders the further east they go.

If he’s perfectly honest, Dean doesn’t want to examine Damien and Barnes' corpses. It's bad enough seeing the dead bodies of perfect strangers, but to see these guys, well, he's really beginning to wonder why he'd volunteered for this job. He could have gone to examine the perfect strangers, but no, instead he was heading out to see Damien and Barnes, people whose names he knows, whose hopes have been shared with him.

Cas reaches across the front seat and slides his hand on top of Dean's and squeezes lightly. It's a quick touch, just to say, "It's okay, I'm here." Dean returns the gesture, smiling at Cas, grateful for the silent show of support.

Two stops and nearly fourteen hours later, they pull into the parking lot of The Aviation Motel. It's got an airplane motif, from the sign out front with propellers that says "Vacancy", to the layout of the buildings, which kind of looks like a biplane, if you tilt your head just right.

Dean heads to the front office to get rooms for the night, and comes back with two keys, one of which he hands to John. Dean's long since gotten over any apprehension he's had about asking for one room with a king-sized bed for Cas and himself, but that doesn't stop the tips of his ears from growing warm when he tells John that their room is just a couple of doors up from his.

Dinner's a quiet affair; none of them are all that hungry. Dean does eat as much as he can, knowing that if he doesn't, he'll be hungry _and_ cranky later. They sit in the booth, avoiding each other's eyes as they shove food around on their plates.

Their waitress, an older woman with shockingly bright red hair and a name tag that reads, "Mindy", remarks on it when she comes to clear away their dishes. "You boys want these in to go boxes? Shame to waste all this food, you know." She winks at John, who smiles back automatically. Dean tells her that yes, they will take the food with them, and he hands her two twenties to pay for their meal. They slide out of the booth when she hands them their boxes, and she says, "Hope you have a nice night!" in a cheerful voice.

The diner is adjacent to the motel, so it's not that far a walk back to their rooms. They're silent, though, the atmosphere thick and heavy with everything that's been said and all that has yet to be expressed.

Dean and Cas stop at their room, number 42, and John hesitates, a lengthy pause in his forward momentum, before he continues down the breezeway to his room, number 36. Dean unlocks the door and heaves a sigh when it closes behind them. Cas puts their boxes of food in the mini fridge before pulling Dean down onto the bed next to him. He spoons Dean, his arms wrapped around Dean's waist and snuggles close.

"He's trying, Dean," Cas says.

Dean snorts. "Cas, two days ago you were about ready to smite him, and now you're on his side?"

"Dean, I'm not on his side. I'm on our side. I was merely observing that he's making an attempt to show support. If he didn't support you... us, I don't think he'd be here at all."

Dean closes his eyes. "Ugh, you're right." He rolls over so they're face to face. "Sometimes I hate it when you're right."

"No you don't," Cas says, leaning in to kiss Dean, but Dean pulls out of Cas's reach.

"Yeah, I do," Dean says, and Cas laughs. He runs his fingers up under Dean's t-shirt, tickling his stomach. Dean tries to squirm away, but Cas is too strong, and he's trapped. Their impromptu wrestling match dissolves into slow, languid kissing, Cas nipping at Dean's lower lip. He whispers words of affection and endearment into Dean's mouth, and Dean lets himself fall into the warmth and safety of Cas's embrace.

John thumps on their door the next morning, expecting that they'll still be asleep. He's surprised when he hears Cas greet him, not from the other side of the motel door, but from behind him, a cardboard tray with three coffees in his hands. John takes the proffered drink and holds the tray while Cas lets them into the room. The sound of the shower running can be heard through the bathroom door, and John tries not to blanche visibly at the sight of the single unmade bed in the middle of the room. Cas waves at the table with a raised eyebrow, and John sits. Cas takes a seat across from John, and they drink their coffee in silence as they wait for Dean to get out of the shower.

John notices that Cas has on a suit, a dark one with a blue tie that's slightly askew. The trench coat is nowhere in sight. Dean comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey, Dad." He comes over to the table and picks up the coffee meant for him, kissing Cas on the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Cas." It's not until he's back in the bathroom, pulling on his boxer briefs that he realizes what he's just done in front of his father. He has a moment of quiet panic before deciding that he's not going to hide his affection for Cas any longer. He shrugs and continues dressing.

They arrive at the morgue just after nine, at the shift change. Dean parks in a back corner spot, and the three of them get out of the car. They'd managed to find a suit for John to wear, and if no one looks too closely, they won't be able to see the sheen on the elbows and the frayed seams along the bottoms of the cuffs. Dean takes a minute to fix Cas's tie, rolling his eyes fondly at the fact that Cas never did learn how to tie a tie properly. Under the guise of smoothing out Cas's shirt, he runs his hands down Cas's chest. The smirk Cas throws him lets Dean know that Cas isn't fooled by his nonchalance, and Dean winks back. Behind them, John clears his throat.

Inside the morgue, Dean flashes his badge and his most winning smile, asking the desk clerk about the asphyxiation case that just came in the previous day. When the clerk questions why the FBI is interested, Dean leans forward, a conspiratorial grin on his face. He says, "We're pretty sure it's nothing, but there's been some... chatter, recently, and my boss," here Dean tilts his head over his shoulder at John, who's down at the other end of the counter, pretending to talk on his cell phone, frowning deeply. "My boss wants us to dot every i and cross every t. You know how it is." The clerk, who is twenty-two if he's a day, nods sagely and tells Dean he'll be right back.

Within five minutes, they're escorted into the autopsy room, and the coroner pulls out the drawers that contain Damien and Barnes' bodies. Dean assembles his face into a bland, FBI mask and inhales deeply before looking down. The coroner's rattling off a bunch of information that's in the police report, Dean's sure, so he kind of tunes her out to really look at the body on the table in front of him.

He tries to remember that the body is no longer Barnes, that it's just a thing lying on a table in front of him, lifeless. The skin is loose and empty, the fingers wrinkled in a way that they never were when Barnes was alive. The skin is grey-tinged, his lips blue. But his hair is still short, although there's a little less of it on top of his head, his ears are still wide, his nose still long, and Dean can remember the smile on his face when he rested his head on Damien's shoulder. Dean scrubs his face with his right hand and tries to bring back his attention to the coroner.

"So just a gas leak, the cops say, and I'm sure that's what the autopsy will show, agents," the coroner says. "Not sure what the FBI wants with this particular case, as far as I can tell, it's open and shut."

"I'm sure it is, Doctor..." Dean glances at her id badge, "Dr. York, but we'd like to be certain. What about identifying marks?"

"Oh, well, now that is interesting. It looks like they got identical tattoos on their backs. Let me show you." She puts on a pair of gloves and hands the box to Dean and Cas, who both put on a pair as well. John stands behind them, his hands clasped behind his back, saying that he'll just observe. Dr. York rolls Barnes to the side so they can see the mark in the center of his back, just like Adele Winters, John, and Ash.

"May I?" Dean asks, holding up his cell phone. The coroner nods, and he takes a photo of it from several angles. "And D– the other body has the same mark?"

"Yes." She rolls Barnes back down and shows Dean the mark on Damien's back, which is, as advertised, nearly identical to the one on Barnes' back. Dean takes a photo of that one too. "Although now that I look at it, it doesn't look much like a tattoo..." She trails off. "Hold him up for a second while I grab..." she's distracted now by the mystery of the marks on their backs, and she steps away from the table while Dean holds Damien's body on his side. She comes back with a magnifying glass and a headlamp, which she turns on to examine it more closely.

"It looks kind of like a burn... Like something branded the mark on the flesh. But it's not scar tissue, it's like raised flesh." She shakes her head. "Curious. I'm going to test it to see if there's any kind of chemical residue or anything."

"You'll let us know the results?" Dean hands over a business card, which she takes and slides into her pocket, nodding. They thank her for her time, and leave the morgue the way they came.


	12. Chapter 12

Cas frowns down at Dean’s cellphone, examining the image of the _mu_ from Damien’s back. He turns the phone around, looking at it from every angle.

“Dean,” he says after a minute. “Everyone has had this symbol?”

“Yeah. Even Dad,” Dean says, pointing at John, who’s standing just off to the side, watching Dean and Cas talk. They’re back in the motel room, and Dean had been about to upload the pictures he took at the morgue when Cas had grabbed his phone out of his hands. Used to Cas’s abruptness, Dean had just surrendered the phone and wait for Cas to do his thing.

Cas looks up at John. “Take off your shirt.”

John stares, flicking a wary glance at Dean, who sighs and resists the temptation to rub his hand over his face.

“He just wants to see the mark, Dad.” Dean, proud of himself for not rolling his eyes, waves a hand in the general direction of the cell phone. “Please.”

John takes off the suit coat and undoes his tie. He’s about two buttons down when he hesitates. “I feel like… could you maybe turn around? I feel like I’m doin’ a strip tease here or something.”

Dean does roll his eyes this time, but he turns around, pulling Cas around with him, who throws him a questioning look. “Whatever,” Dean murmurs. “It’s no big deal.”

Cas looks like he doesn’t believe Dean, but he keeps quiet, waiting until John clears his throat and says, “Okay, you can look.”

When Dean and Cas turn around, John has his back to them, and his hands hang loosely by his sides, fists tightly closed. Dean clenches his jaw, but just gestures to Cas to go ahead and examine John’s back.

Cas does, leaning forward, squinting lightly at the mark. “Turn to your right,” he rumbles. John obeys, exposing his back to more light from the window. Just like the others, the skin is raised, but it’s not red or bruised. It looks like those serpentine mounds in the Mississippi area created before Columbus came to the Americas. “Does it hurt?” Cas asks, and John shakes his head. Cas pulls away with a grunt, looking if anything, more puzzled and frustrated than he had before he examined the mark on John’s back. He shrugs at Dean. “They’re all exactly the same.”

“Exactly?” Dean asks after a minute.

“Essentially,” Cas replies. “The ones on Damien and Barnes, the one on your father’s back, the one on that woman. They are the same size, both the rise of the skin and the length of the letter.” He holds out his hand. “Let me see the photo again?” Dean drops the phone into Cas’s hand. Cas looks at the photo for a minute, and then grunts discontentedly, handing it back to Dean.

Meanwhile, John pulls his shirt back on, buttoning it up. “Does that mean anything?” he asks, grimacing at the fact that this is a question he has to ask. It used to be that he was the one who had all the answers. Dean and Cas stare at each other, exchanging some kind of silent communication, and so neither one of them answers John’s question. “Dean,” John says sharply after a minute.

Dean drags his gaze away from Cas’s face. “Yeah. I don’t know, Dad. Charlie’s put some of the stuff from the bunker online, so I’m going to check that out while we wait to hear from Dr. York. We’ve got another couple of bodies to check out in Dayton, and then we’ll head back. Maybe Sam’s found out something we can add to this.” Dean sits at the small table and pulls out Sam’s spare laptop. While he waits for it to boot up, he hands his phone to Cas. “Why don’t you call Sam, see what they’ve found out?”

John remains where he’s standing, in the middle of the room, watching Cas exit the motel room to make the phone call outside. Dean’s already scowling at the laptop, like it’s refusing to give him the information he needs. John’s at a loss, because he doesn’t know what to do, he’s not even sure there is anything he _can_ do. He’s not used to this feeling, the feeling of being unnecessary. With Dean and Cas, he’s superfluous, the third wheel that they don’t need to provide extra stability. He’s just taking up space. He doesn’t even bother asking Dean if there’s anything he can do, instead he leaves their room and walks down the breezeway to his own room and steps inside.

John sits on the edge of his bed, thinking. He realizes, in some small, far off part of his brain, that he’s being an asshole, that he’s judging both his son and his – what, his boyfriend? – unfairly, but all the information of the last week has piled up, threatening to overwhelm him. It’s as if every revelation was another heavy book that they’ve dumped into his arms, and now they’re teetering in a tower reaching way over his head. He’s barely able to keep his own balance, suddenly returned from the dead after nearly ten years, let alone hold up beneath the weight of everything he’s learned.

He doesn’t really want to be an asshole about Dean being gay – _bisexual_ , he reminds himself, hearing Dean’s voice – but it’s from so far out in left field, that he doesn’t know what to do with the information. And to find out that his son is in love with an angel – a supernatural creature – no less well that’s just the icing on the cake, isn’t it? John rubs his face, working himself up to righteous indignation. He’s at the very top of it, ready to tip over when there’s a light tapping at his door.

He stands with a groan, knees creaking, and opens it. He’s not really surprised to see Cas on the other side, and he steps aside without a word to let the angel into his room, waving his arm wide in invitation.

Cas gets right to the point. “You don’t trust or like me.” He doesn’t take John’s offer of a seat, and John actually doesn’t blame him, because the couch is old, lumpy, and uncomfortable. _He’s_ being old, lumpy, and uncomfortable.

“I–“ John hesitates, but then he decides that it’s best to be honest. “No. I don’t.”

Cas nods. “I don’t particularly care either way, except that it matters to Dean. And what matters to Dean matters to me.” Cas takes a breath. “I don’t know if this will help, but in my true form, I have no gender. Neither male, nor female. This,” here, Cas spreads his arms wide. “This is just a vessel, it’s only an outer shell.”

“So you’re just possessing some poor unsuspecting sap? Using his body for your own purposes? That’s not making it any better, Cas.” His tone is bitter, like cold metal.

Cas looks down at the floor. “Jimmy, that’s who this vessel belonged to… Jimmy is gone. Has been for a long time.” He’s speaking quietly, his voice thick with remorse and sorrow. “I miss him, sometimes. But–“ Cas stops abruptly, inhaling. “Jimmy knows – knew – how much I love Dean.”

“Can angels even feel love?” John asks, curious despite himself.

Cas smiles, a soft, secretive thing that brightens his face. “I observed humanity for a long time, you know. I’ve seen you try to build cities and civilizations and I’ve seen you fail. I’ve seen humans love each other, I’ve seen hatred, and I’ve read everything that humans have written about both subjects.” He looks at John, capturing the other man’s gaze, making sure he’s paying attention before he continues. “Even your greatest authors have a hard time putting love into words. But if what they say about it is anything close to the real thing, then yes, absolutely, angels can feel love.”

John thinks he sees it, thinks he might see some of the angel beyond the human vessel he’s inhabiting. While the tie has somehow managed to go askew again, and he’s in shirtsleeves, rolled half way up to his elbows, he has the bearing of something otherworldly, something fantastic and stunning. The man before him doesn’t have the appearance of an angel, but it’s there, a powerful hum beneath the surface. John’s about to say something, but Cas isn’t finished.

“ _‘Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.’_ Rumi is my favorite, I think. He manages to capture it most gracefully of all the writers I’ve read. I think you understand this. It’s what pushed you to chase after Azazel.” John flinches a little at that, and Cas changes tack. “Do you understand the depth of love that your son is capable of? He loves more deeply and thoroughly than any human I have ever known or observed. I’m lucky that he chooses to share some of that love with me.”

Cas steps toward the door, but turns back before opening it. “Both of your sons surprise and amaze me every day. I don’t know if they’ve grown to be the wonderful men they are because of you, or in spite of you. I hope that you take this opportunity to open your eyes and really see who they are.” Cas opens the door and steps through it, leaving John alone in the motel room with his thoughts.

When Dr. York finally gets in touch with Dean to tell him about the test results, he’s disappointed, but not really surprised. There’s nothing chemically or organically odd about the marks on the backs of Damien or Barnes – the corpses, Dean has to remind himself – just the expected sweat, skin cells and dirt. The kind of thing you expect to find on a dead body, in other words. Dean shares the information with Cas and John, who had changed back into a t-shirt and jeans and rejoined them in their room.

“So we check out the bodies in Dayton, and head back to the bunker,” John says.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t think we need to keep chasing after dead bodies. I’ll call the Dayton coroner, get the information over the phone. We should just head back.” He looks at Cas, who nods his agreement. It’s about mid afternoon by this point, and Dean’s spent most of the day waiting around for the information from the coroner, which wasn’t that useful in the first place. He’s frustrated and irritated by being forced to stay in one place for little or no return, and he just needs to get out.

“I’m going to go for a run,” he says, standing abruptly. He grabs a pair of sweat pants from the duffle on the end of the bed and goes into the bathroom to change. “Cas, there’s a pair of sneakers in there, right?” he asks through the partially open door. Cas digs into the duffle and pulls out two pairs of running shoes and some socks.

“Yes. Do you want company?” he asks.

Dean thinks about it for a minute, and then says, “Yeah, that’d be great, Cas.”

John just watches the two of them, acting out this piece of normality in the midst of all that is abnormal in their life. His son, going jogging with an angel of the Lord, and isn’t that the weirdest picture; does an angel even need to exercise? Cas has no problems with modesty at all, taking off his suit pants and putting on running shorts out in the main room, in front of John, and then undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. He’s got a plain white undershirt on beneath it, and he pulls that off as well. He hangs up the dress shirt, naked from the waist up and returns to dig through the duffle for a spare t-shirt.

Dean comes out of the bathroom dressed for running, and sits on the end of the bed to put on his socks and sneakers. “You don’t mind, Dad, do you?” he asks, but it’s clear to John that Dean’s not really expecting John to say that he does mind. And John can tell by Dean’s nervous, jerky movements that he needs to blow off some steam. Dean finishes tying his shoes and glances up at Cas, still shirtless. “Dude, there’s like four t-shirts in there, I know it.”

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean. “Yes, but I can’t find them, because someone keeps stuffing the dirty clothes right on top of the clean ones.” Dean reaches into the duffle to try to help Cas, but Cas swats his hand away playfully. “I can find them myself, Dean.” Dean just laughs and watches Cas continue his search. When it becomes clear that Cas can’t find what he’s looking for, Dean just folds his arms over his chest and smirks.

“You sure about that, Cas?”

Cas stands up straight with an irritated huff. “Fine, you look then.”

Dean grins and begins pulling everything out of the duffle, dumping most of it into a pile in the middle of the bed. He comes up with an olive green t-shirt and hands it triumphantly to Cas. “Here ya go.”

“I could just as easily have done that. Now all our clothes are a mess,” Cas points at the giant heap as he pulls the t-shirt over his head.

“Yeah, but now we’re ready to go. Come on, hurry up.” He grabs the room key and his cell phone, and hovers by the door. “We’ll be back in about an hour, Dad.”

The run is exactly what Dean needs, and he pushes hard, pounding the pavement and going at a pretty good clip for the first twenty minutes. They don’t talk while they’re running, opting to just focus on where they’re going and on their pace. Dean eases up after a while, just as they come to the local high school. He leads the way onto the track, and they jog around it side-by-side.

Finally, he slows down and walks off the track, collapsing onto the ground, knees bent. Cas follows and sits next to him. “Feel better?” Cas asks.

Dean shrugs. “A little.” He rolls over and props his head on his hand. While Dean’s breathing heavily, his face flushed and warm, Cas looks as if he had been enjoying a mild stroll. Dean can’t resist reaching out and mussing Cas’s hair, which he’d helped plaster down with gel earlier that morning in preparation for their stint as fake FBI agents. Dean makes a face when he feels the gel squelching between his fingers, and he wipes his hand on the grass. “I think we used too much.” It’s Cas’s turn to shrug, because he doesn’t care about it either way. He understands the need for the charade of dressing up as FBI agents, and looking the part, but other than that, he never pays attention to how he appears to others. He supposes that if he were truly trying to pass as human, he should try to affect an interest, but he can’t bring himself to care about things that don’t matter. He clasps Dean’s hand in his own, smiling down at his friend.

They sit together in silence, watching the sun move lower in the sky and the shadows lengthen. After a while, they get up and jog slowly back to the motel. Dean teases Cas. “Bet you can’t outrun me,” he says, knowing full well that Cas absolutely can outrun him, and can do it without even blinking an eye. But Cas plays along, side-eyeing Dean before taking off in a perfectly human burst of speed. Dean yelps and ratchets up his own pace to catch up. They race back to the motel, reaching the door to their room at about the same time.

“You cheated,” Dean says, unlocking the door.

“How could I have cheated? It was a tie,” Cas replies, but he’s smiling.

“It was exactly a tie, and that’s how come you cheated.” Dean points at him.

Cas tilts his head to the side. “Would you rather that I go as fast as I actually can? Because if that’s the case, then I would have been waiting…oof!” Dean interrupts Cas by tackling him and wrestling him to the bed.

“Angel boyfriends are utterly hopeless,” Dean says, his eyes dancing with mirth. Cas laughs, pleased to see that some of Dean’s earlier agitation has been calmed by their run.

“I think,” Cas says, rolling them over so he’s leaning over Dean. “That the word you’re looking for is ‘perfect’. Angel boyfriends are perfect.” Cas leans down and kisses Dean, swallowing the hunter’s retort. “Come on, let’s go shower.”

“Not sure that shower’s big enough for both of us, Cas,” Dean says, but he lets Cas drag him into the bathroom anyway.

“Guess we’ll find out.”


	13. Chapter 13

Their return to the bunker is anti-climactic, coming back with just about the same amount of information they’d had when they left. Sam, Charlie and Ash are still out west, but they’re on their way back, and should be home by the end of the day.

After their shower, Dean and Cas had knocked on John’s motel room and they’d climbed back into the Impala, driving all night to get back. The sun’s just peeking over the horizon when Dean parks the car, and they creep into the bunker as quietly as they can, not wanting to wake Kevin. John slumps down the hallway to his room, waving at Dean and Cas over his shoulder.

Inside their room, Dean begins the process of emptying their duffle, _again_. “Home sweet home,” he says. Man, after this week, I don’t want to have to go anywhere for weeks. Months, even.” He feels the weight of Cas’s gaze. “What?”

Cas smiles, but shakes his head and helps Dean finish unpacking. They lie on the bed, only meaning to take a short nap, but they fall asleep for several hours, waking up only when they hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. There’s a knock on the door, and Sam’s voice comes through, asking, “Dean? Cas, you guys in there?”

Dean gets up with a groan and opens the door. “Hey Sammy. Judging from the look on your face, you guys didn’t have any more luck than we did.”

“Well, if you guys came up with essentially more of the same, then yeah, that’s what we got.” Sam scowls. “I’m not used to this. Not figuring things out.”

Dean laughs. “Tell me about it. How’re Ash and Charlie?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t let me travel with those two again. They talked computers the entire way both there and back. I didn’t understand half of what they were going on about.”

“Big old nerd like you?” Dean laughs, clapping Sam on the back.

Sam shoots him a bitch face. “Glass houses, Dean.” He takes a deep breath. “I think we need to dig deeper into the archives here. There’s got to be something in one of those books that’ll give us an idea of what we’re working with.” Dean nods his agreement, and they move into the library, where Ash and Charlie are setting up what looks to be a bank of computers.

“We made a stop at Charlie’s on the way back,” Sam explains. Ash and Charlie both wave at Dean and Cas when they come in, but they’re unable, or unwilling to tear their attention away from what they’re doing.

“So it’s all hands on deck, then,” Dean says. “Check out every volume of Greek lore we can and see where that leads us.” Sam and Cas nod. “All right then, let’s get started.” John comes in just as Dean begins to direct people, so he, along with everyone else, gets assigned a couple of shelves of books to go through. In the library alone there are two full bookcases of Greek lore, both ancient and modern, and they have their work cut out for them.

Silence descends as they settle in to their tasks, and for several hours, the only sounds are the shuffle of papers, the occasional creak of chairs as someone changes position, and the low hum of the fan from the bank of computers that Ash and Charlie are setting up. Once they’ve finished that, they add the sounds of typing to the musical mix, their fingers flying across the keyboards.

“How do we know it’s not an _eta_?” John asks, shoving away one immense volume.

Dean frowns. “I suppose we don’t, but since the letters are all oriented the same way on everyone…”

John nods and opens another book with a heavy sigh.

They break for dinner, ordering in Chinese food for everyone, but they eat in the kitchen, wanting to get out of the library if only for a little while. Jody shows up shortly after dinner, grinning up at Sam when he bounds to the end of the library to give her a gigantic hug. She finds a space next to him at the table and, after Sam fills her in on what’s going on, she joins the search.

It’s late, very late, when Dean shoves away from the table. “I think the appropriate word here is _Eureka_.” Dean looks around the table expectantly, but gets an eye roll from Sam and an affectionate, tolerant sigh from Cas. The grin on Dean’s face fades somewhat, but then he holds up the slim volume he’s been flipping through. “Moirai. The Fates.”

Sam groans, and Cas inhales sharply. “What, really?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. The _mu_ , first letter of the Greek word for fates,” Dean says. “So one of the Fates is back and screwing around again. He turns to Cas. “Cas, I hate to ask, but…”

Cas holds up a hand, anticipating the question. “It’s nothing I’ve done.” He looks Dean in the eye. “I promise.”

Dean nods, looking relieved, and Sam visibly relaxes too.

“Okay, so why the Fates? And is it all three of them? Cuz if that’s the case, then we’re probably not going to be able to handle this on our own,” Sam says.

“You thinking we’re going to have to kill one of the Fates?” Ash asks from his perch at the bank of computers.

“Is that even a good idea?” Charlie asks, biting on her lower lip. “That sounds like a really bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea, actually.”

“No, no, talk first, stab later, if we need to,” Dean says. Charlie looks relieved at that, but John purses his lips.

“How do we even know that it’s the Fates? I mean, you’re just going with a letter here, it could be a huge coincidence,” John says, the skepticism evident in his voice.

Dean shrugs. “It’s what we’ve got to go on, so far, isn’t it? And think about it. The three Fates have control over birth, life and death. They decide who is born, how long a person’s life is meant to be, and then, when the time comes, they cut the thread of that person’s life. It fits.”

“Sounds kind of too easy, you ask me,” John says.

Dean frowns. “You keep looking then, and we’ll work this route.”

“So, uh, how do we summon the Fates?” Sam asks raising his voice and trying to fend off an argument before it begins. John re-opens his book with an irritated sigh.

Dean waves the book he’s holding. “Doesn’t say here, this is mostly about the Fates and gods giving gifts at a wedding. So we gotta find every piece of lore in this place on the Fates, see if we can’t pull Genie out of her bottle.” Dean stretches, his back cracking loudly in the echoey room. He and Sam return as many of the already used books back to their original spots and begin digging through the shelves for more information on the Fates. While they’re not entirely sure that the Fates are the ones causing people to mysteriously return to life, or die suddenly, they feel like they have a more definite direction for their research. They return to work with renewed vigor.

It’s Charlie who finds it. “Oh! Oh! I got it, I got it!” She bounces up out of her chair. “I know how to summon the Fates.”

Dean shoots up out of his chair to look at Charlie’s laptop screen. “What do we have to do?"

“It’s really easy, actually. We need a young woman, ‘free and pure of spirit’,” Charlie makes quote marks with her fingers. “And all she has to do is say the names of the three Fates. They’ll have to come.”

“Pure of spirit?” Dean asks. “We gotta find a virgin?”

Charlie looks thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so. It says ‘free’ first, and then ‘pure’, so that just might mean unattached, not promised to anyone. Not necessarily a virgin. Although, I bet it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, we’re not exactly swimming in young, unattached women around here, Charlie. Unless you have something you want to share with us,” Dean says.

Charlie hits Dean lightly on the upper arm. “Seriously, Dean, sometimes you are a neanderthal. And before you say anything else, I don’t think I’m young enough to qualify.” She taps her finger on her lower lip. “No, I think we need someone under 21. Under 18 would be better.”

Dean and Sam swivel their heads to stare at Kevin, who narrows his eyes at them. “Don’t look at me. Since I became a prophet, I don’t have any friends outside of you guys. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you about them.” He turns his back and mutters bitterly, “They’d just end up dead anyway.”

Sam straightens suddenly, like something’s occurred to him, but he eyes Dean warily before he says anything.

“Dude, what. Spill it,” Dean says after a minute.

Sam clears his throat. “There’s Krissy.”

“Huh uh, no. No way. Absolutely not,” Dean says. “Nope.”

“Dean, she’s the only girl we know under 18. She’s tough, knows how to fight, and can protect herself if shit goes south. And we’ll all be there too, so it’s not like she wouldn’t have back up,” Sam reasons.

“No. No! We’re not dragging her into this, no way. She’s fine where she is, and she’s going to stay that way.”

John leans over to Jody and whispers, “Who’s Krissy?”

Jody murmurs, “Hunter’s kid, her dad got killed and she got into the life. Dean’s been trying to get her out of it.”

John nods. “She any good?”

With a shrug, Jody says, “Sam thinks she is, but Dean won’t hear any of it. As you can see.” Jody waves her hand towards the two brothers, who are practically nose-to-nose, loudly trying to convince each other that their opinion is the correct one. Sam wears away at Dean, though, throwing logic and reason at him at every turn, undoing every single one of Dean’s objections.

“Cas, can’t you bring ‘em here or something?” Dean asks, but Cas shakes his head before Dean has the chance to even finish his question.

“I’m sorry Dean, no. They wouldn’t answer.”

Finally, Dean throws his hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. Whatever. But if anything happens to her, I will kill you,” Dean says, pointing at Sam.

Sam holds his own hands up in the universal signal of surrender. “I promise. We’ll all be right there.” But Dean’s not listening anymore, he’s stomping off down the hallway.

They decide to wait until morning to call Krissy, because it was well after midnight by the time Charlie had figured out how to summon the Fates. They all go to bed apprehensive but excited, heads filled with hopeful thoughts of solving the mystery before week’s end.

Dean huffs and puffs his way through his nighttime routine, yanking his shirt over his head and dropping it in the vicinity of the laundry basket. He brushes his teeth, scowling at his reflection before spitting all over the sink. Cas just watches Dean, sitting mildly in bed, waiting for some of Dean’s anger to burn off. By the time Dean gets into bed next to Cas, he’s worked himself into quite the snit, though, and he turns off the light and lies down with his back to his friend.

Cas rolls his eyes and lies down behind Dean, pulling him in close. “Dean,” he says, his lips just barely touching Dean’s ear. “You know if there were any other way…”

“Yeah, Cas, I know,” Dean says, his tone bitter, but he scoots back toward Cas, snuggling into his friend’s arms.

“And we’ll all be there to keep an eye on her.”

“Mm hm. I know.” Dean nods his head. “Still sucks though.”

“I know,” Cas says. He can feel Dean’s body relaxing slowly as they fall asleep.

Dean insists on calling Krissy, and when he does, she agrees to help almost as soon as the question is out of his mouth. Dean tries to tell her in no uncertain terms that this is not his idea, that if there were any other way, he’d keep her out of it, but she stops him before he can continue his thoughts.

“Stop it, Dean. I’m not a little kid, and you’re not my dad. I said I’d help, and I will. And I can take care of myself.” He can practically hear her rolling her eyes over the phone line.

“Yeah. I just don’t like dragging you into stuff like this.”

“Old man, you need to stop acting like I’m six years old. Because I’m not.” She hangs up before he can protest any further, and he holds back on sticking his tongue out at the phone. Just.

Waiting for Krissy to show up means that they have several hours ahead of them during which they can plan out where and when they’re going to summon the Fates, and what precautions they’re going to set up. They decide that the dungeon is the best choice, because it’s protected by all kinds of wards, it’s an enclosed space and it’s small enough that they can easily defend it should the need arise.

John gets the opportunity to watch his sons as they plan for the event. They move furniture around, organize and set aside all manner of weaponry, and back up weaponry. They carve out more protective sigils, scent the air with frankincense and myrrh, incense aromas often used as offerings to the gods. The Fates are the daughters of Zeus, and so they figure it can’t hurt.

He’s impressed, watching all three of them work – Dean, Sam and Cas –  not just at how they work _together_ , but at the extent of their knowledge. They speak to each other in a language all their own, half sentences, anticipating what the other needs. There's a wrenching stab to his gut as John realizes that he's _jealous_. His face burns with the shame of it – he's jealous of his own sons and what they've built here. All the things they've learned about hunting, surviving, and they did it without him, without his guiding hand.

They hadn't needed him, after all.

He must have an odd look on his face, because Sam comes to stand next to him and says, "Dad?" There's a worried line between his brows as he looks down at John. "You okay?"

John plasters a smile on his face, fooling no one, especially not himself. "Yeah Sammy, I'm fine."

There's a flicker of something in Sam's eyes at the use of the nickname, but it's gone before John can identify it. Sam is _thirty_ – a grown man, no longer a kid – one whose life has had more excitement, garbage, fear and horror in it than most people could experience in ten lifetimes. And despite all of that, there's still a light smile on his face when he looks at Jody. He still rolls his eyes affectionately when Dean makes a goofy joke (had Dean always done that?). He shares an exasperated grin with Cas when Dean tilts a silly smirk their way, wiggling his shoulders as he waits for the inevitable groan.

It hits John between the eyes that these three _are_ a family, in ways that the boys and John hadn't had the opportunity to be back when he was alive. And that family has expanded so much. Charlie, who regards John with narrowed eyes, is like a little sister to them; they tease each other lightly in ways that Sam and Dean used to do when they were much younger. They've taken Kevin under their protective wing, and while he's not yet fully relaxed around them, he sees the bunker as his home, propping his feet up on the table when he reads in the library. Sam slides an arm around Jody's waist, pulling her close while they watch Dean and Cas move a piece of furniture out of the way. Dean and Cas laugh about something or other, carefree and easy with each other. Dean’s more laid-back today than he has been since John's arrival.

And watching Dean with Cas, John sees both sides of what he'd seen a few days ago when Dean was on the phone with – he now understands – Cas. They stay close together, and like Jody and Sam, they share small touches, Dean dragging his fingertips across Cas's arm, or, with a quick glance at John, pressing a kiss to Cas's temple. Cas has relaxed his guard even more than Dean, pressing a hand to Dean's hip lightly when they pass each other, grasping his hand and squeezing lightly, whispering something in Dean's ear. John's trying not to stare, trying not to gape, really, but he can't help it. It's not so much that it's so foreign, although it is, but also that he doesn't think he's seen Dean look so comfortable in his own skin or so light of spirit.

John thinks he's beginning to understand what Sam meant when he said that Dean is happy.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with the Fates, you know,” Sam says in a low voice to Dean. Dean nods, because he’s been worrying over that same thing himself.

“It’s definitely a bad idea, but we need to figure out how to bind and kill them,” Dean says. “There’s got to be more in this place about stuff like this than just what’s in the library.”

“There’re a couple of storerooms on the same level as the dungeon. Jody and I’ll go check them out,” Sam says.

Dean nods, but then smirks. “Make sure you spend some of your time actually doing research, Sammy.”

“Whatever, Dean. You and Cas are just as bad,” Sam says. “Man, we have killed some pretty big fish in our day, but to plan on killing Fate? That seems beyond the pale, even for us.”

“It’s not _definite_ that we’re gonna kill Fate. Call it an insurance policy. Maybe we won’t have to,” Dean says, but the grim look on his face says that he thinks otherwise.

Sam pulls Jody aside. “What’s up, Sam?” she asks.

“Come with me,” he says, taking her hand. He explains the plan as he leads her down to the dungeon level. He opens up the storeroom to the right of the dungeon and they stare inside. A lone light bulb hangs from the ceiling, and Sam searches the wall just inside the door for a light switch. When he finds it, he flicks the switch, turning on a pale, watery yellow light. The room is fairly large, square and about fifteen square feet, about the size of Jody’s living room. The room is crowded full with boxes and shelves, all covered with at least an inch of dust and cobwebs.

“Oh Sam, this is so charming. Much better than that bed and breakfast you took me to,” Jody says dryly.

Sam snorts, but kisses the top of her head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Jody peers around the room. “It’s gonna take more than a weekend at a B&B to make up for this, just FYI.” She rolls up her sleeves. “All right, let’s do this. You take that side of the room, and I’ll take this. Am I looking for anything in particular?”

Sam makes a face as he opens one of the boxes and a poof of dust goes flying. He sneezes. “Anything helpful.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jody says as she opens her first box. They work methodically through the boxes, not talking very much, occasionally picking up something that they think might be of interest. At some point along the way, both Charlie and Ash join them to help out. When Jody can’t take the dust any more, she makes a run to the drug store and buys masks for them to put on so they’re somewhat protected. She garners a few strange glances in the CVS, and it’s not until she’s back that she realizes why.

“You’ve got something…” Sam says, licking his thumb and wiping her cheek. He shows her the digit, and she sees the giant smudge of dust that had just been removed.

“That explains the looks,” she says, smiling. She leans up and kisses Sam before putting a mask over his mouth and nose. “Well, that’s all right anyway, a little dust never hurt anyone.”

Hours and hours go by as they search, and they don’t come up with much of anything. Sam’s beginning to despair of finding anything when Ash gives a yelp of surprise.

“Dude!” Sam and Jody come over to Ash’s corner. He’s seated on the floor, heedless of the bugs and dust. He holds up a book. “My Greek’s rusty, but I think this might be the one.”

Sam takes the book from Ash and flips through the book, scanning the pages quickly. The pages are faded, but the illustrations are clear enough. The book appears to be some kind of Greek how-to on battling gods and goddesses. He runs his finger down one page and stops in the middle. “The river Styx, of course.” He snaps the book shut carelessly and bounds out of the room, dashing off to find Dean, who’s in the library.

“Dean, check this out,” Sam says. He opens the book and hands it to Dean, who reads the page twice before looking at Sam.

“Dude, this might work. You know, if we actually had a bolt of Zeus’ lightning. Or some water from the river Styx,” Dean says. He hands the book back to Sam.

“Dean, I can get the water. And the bolt of Zeus’ lightning isn’t a literal lightning bolt,” Cas says. “It’s a knife.”

“Wait, a knife?” Sam asks.

Dean starts snapping his fingers. “It’s about a foot long, Cas? Maybe shorter?” Cas nods. “I think I may have seen that…” Dean hops up and sprints out of the library, leaving Sam and Cas to stare after him. Dean is back in about ten minutes, holding a large, serrated edged knife. Etched onto the blade are lightning bolts, and the haft is wrapped in golden thread and ancient, cracking leather. “Zeus’ lightning bolt,” Dean says, handing it handle first to Sam. Sam tests its weight.

Cas peers at the knife and says, “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Dean, how’d you know what this was?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “The Men of Letters have a weird cataloging system, but after looking through so much stuff over the last year, I’m beginning to figure it out. Plus, I remember looking at that thing a couple of months ago, and thinking that the lightning looked kind of badass.”

Cas leans over to kiss Dean. “I’ll go get the water you need. Do you need anything else while I’m gone, Sam?”

Sam looks back at the book to double check, but he’s pretty sure he’s got the entire page memorized at this point. “No, that’s it, Cas. Thanks.”

Cas smiles and says, “Of course.”


	14. Chapter 14

Cas returns from the river Styx at the same time Krissy arrives. She's a surprise to John. He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting, but this pretty teenager with the soft face and long flowing dark hair wasn't it. Her eyes are guarded, and she shakes John's hand formally when they're introduced. She hugs Dean and kisses him on the cheek when she sees him, and says something for his ears only, eliciting quick laughter. Dean slings an arm around her shoulder and tries not to look worried about her, but his shoulders crawl up toward his ears, and the easy smile has run away from his face.

There’s a brief argument about who should hold onto the knife, Sam and Dean arguing that Dean should use it, and John thinking he should be the one to use it.

“Dean, I’m the one who doesn’t belong here anymore. If this goes pear-shaped and something happens to me it’s not as big a deal.” John pulls Dean aside. “You have so many people here who count on you. People who love you who want you around. They need you, Dean.” John knows he’s not playing fair at all. He knows that he’s getting Dean in his weak spot, with family and people who need him, but he can’t think of any other way to get Dean to give him the knife. He wants to be the one to kill the Fates. More importantly, he doesn’t want Dean to be the one who does it. He’s not at all sure what the blowback will be, but he’s damn sure that it won’t be pretty.

“You need to stay alive, Dean,” John says in a hushed voice. He holds his breath, waiting for Dean to argue with him, but, to his surprise, Dean doesn’t. Instead, Dean looks over John’s shoulder at Cas, Sam and Jody, standing slightly apart from the rest of the group. Cas smiles at Dean when he catches his friend’s eye. Dean returns the look, and shifts his gaze to look at the rest of the people in the room: Charlie, Ash, Kevin, Krissy. He doesn’t exactly buy John’s argument that they all need him. He does recognize that he needs them, though, and he reluctantly hands the knife over to John.

“Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to, Dad,” Dean says. John just nods, his lips pressed together thinly, jaw set.

"So are gonna do this thing or what?" Krissy asks finally, squaring her shoulders.

Everyone looks to Dean, who nods unwillingly, and they descend into the lower bowels of the bunker and the dungeon. Sam hands out guns to everyone, except for Kevin, who gets a Super Soaker filled with water from the River Styx. It was Dean’s idea, taken from when Kevin had squirted them with holy water a few years ago. Kevin’s given explicit instructions that he’s to saturate whoever appears as soon as Krissy finishes the summoning spell. Cas stands near Dean, his stance erect and wary, eyes already flickering all over the room, keeping a close eye out. They stand in a rough circle around the center of the room, all nine of them, spaced evenly apart.

Dean nods at Krissy. "Whenever you're ready."

Despite her earlier bravado, she looks uncertain, but she nods back and takes a deep breath. "I just have to say their names?" she asks.

"Yep," Charlie affirms.

"Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Moirai," Krissy says with barely a waver in her voice.

Nothing happens. They look around in confusion, but the room stays empty, the now cloying scent of frankincense and myrrh heavy in the air.

"Cas?" Dean asks, but Cas shakes his head.

"Try again, Krissy," Charlie encourages, so Krissy repeats the names, but again, nothing happens.

"Maybe..." Charlie hesitates, glancing at Dean before continuing. "Maybe you're not... 'pure' enough." Charlie blushes, turning the color of her hair. "It's a stupid notion, but..." she trails off when Dean shoots her a murderous glare. "Oh blerg."

Krissy puts her hands on her hips, her face turning red too. "I am plenty... that. Trust me."

"It's more likely that they don't want to be summoned," Cas says, and Krissy shoots him a grateful look.

"So, we're just gonna wait around for them to show?" Dean asks, his fist clenching. "We don't have time for some snooty goddess to decide that we're worth her attention."

"Dean, they're not going to show up at all if you insult them," Sam warns, but Dean just flaps an irritated hand at his brother.

"This is ridiculous. We'll just have to figure something else out." Dean stalks out of the dungeon and thunders up the stairs. Everyone exchanges brief glances before Krissy leads the way in following Dean back upstairs. She nearly runs into him when she rounds a corner and he's stopped dead in the entryway to the library.

"What the–" she says, but Dean shushes her.

Sam uses his superior height to see what's stopped Dean. In the library, sitting cross-legged in the center of the long table is a woman. She looks about John's age, with short, thick silvery hair. Her pale skin shimmers, and her eyes are so dark it looks as if she doesn't have any irises. She smiles, revealing high cheek bones that accentuate her narrow, patrician nose.

 

"I'm sorry, but I don't really do dungeons," she says. Her voice is smoky and low, like hot fudge, with a musical lilt that indicates that English is not her first language.

"And you would be..." Dean asks, his arm spread in front of Krissy so she doesn't move forward. Sam and Cas move up to flank him.

She laughs. "You summoned us, you should know."

"You're one of the Moirai," Krissy breathes.

"Yes, child." The woman eyes Krissy. "You're older than we usually take into our service, but you will still do. Providing that's why you summoned us.” She flicks her eyes at Dean, Sam and Cas. "Though I rather think it isn't."

"Which one are you?" Krissy asks, curious in spite of herself.

"Lachesis, dear." She holds up a spindle of golden thread in one hand and a long strip of parchment in the other. "I take the thread spun by my sister Clotho and measure the length of every human's life."

“And your sisters?” Dean asks.

Lachesis smiles. “We’re all here. All for one, one for all, so to speak.”

“All of you?” Krissy asks. She wants to step forward, finding the goddess intriguing, but Dean’s arm is like a steel bar in front of her.

“Are you the one who's been bringing people back? Killing others?" Dean asks, his face twisted into a snarl.

She laughs again. "Yes. I've been fixing things. Restoring the balance. So many people have died before their time. So many others have lived when they shouldn't have." She spies John behind Dean. "You, for example. You were meant to live much longer than you did. In fact..." she taps the top of the spindle against her bottom lip and in one fluid movement, unfolds her legs and hops off the table. She glides to stand in front of Dean. "You... you were never meant to live this long." She points one long finger at his sternum. "No, you were meant to stay dead."

Dean doesn't have an answer for this, because it's no different than anything he's thought to himself on any number of occasions. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing as he does so.

Lachesis ignores him in favor of turning to Ash. "And, you, you were meant to see your fortieth birthday." She sighs, the way one might when discovering that a desired item was out of stock; a mild inconvenience at most. Her gaze lights on Cas. "Oh, the angel. Well now. You have also caused quite a lot of trouble for us."

Cas glares at her, his jaw muscle ticking as he clenches it. "Lachesis," he starts, but she waves him off, stepping back toward the table.

"It's always the Winchesters and their pet angel. Or maybe it's the angel and his pet Winchesters? In any case, you have been a thorn in our sides for far too long."

"I don't understand. Why bring some people back to life only to kill others?" Sam asks, genuinely confused.

“You know what they say about Fate. We are fickle.” She hops up onto the edge of the table and smiles at them, a wide, feral thing.

Kevin takes the opportunity, finally, to squirt her with the water from the River Styx. He uses the pumping action on the SuperSoaker and lets loose, spraying her with the entire contents of the water gun. She stares at him for a moment, eyes flashing in anger. “That was foolish, mortal,” she says, and she tries to move, but the water has immobilized her. A cruel snarl twists her mouth. “The waters of the river Styx,” she says.

“They’ll bind you,” Dean says. He smirks. “If you agree to undo everything you’ve done, then we can talk about letting you go.”

Lachesis affects a bored expression. “Or else?”

Dean shrugs. “We can kill you. Thought we’d give you the chance to do what we want, first.”

She scoffs. “The arrogance. To think you can kill Fate.”

“Lady, we stopped the Apocalypse. You think we’re gonna let a small fry goddess get in our way?”

“Dean,” Sam hisses. “Don’t piss off the goddess.”

Dean ignores Sam and glares at Lachesis, not breaking eye contact. A war of wills follows as they stare at each other, willing the other to back down. Dean doesn’t like the situation, bottle-necked as they are in the entrance to the library, with the goddess bound inside the room. The dungeon was the better location for this, of course, but then things never seem to go the way they want them to. John’s behind Sam, who is just behind Dean, and there’s no way he can get at her from where he’s standing. Under the pretense of moving Krissy out of the way, Dean begins inching slowly to one side. Lachesis watches Dean move with some little interest, but she doesn’t rise to Dean’s taunts.

“Sammy, you think if we gank this bitch everything would go back to normal?” Dean asks, affecting a nonchalant tone. He can sense Sam moving behind him, but he keeps his eyes firmly locked on the goddess before him.

“Could be. Or things would stay as they are now. A new normal,” Sam answers.

Ash pipes up. “That’d be cool with me.” Lachesis flickers her eyes in his direction, but to his credit, he doesn’t quail beneath her gaze. “Wouldn’t mind sticking around. Get to play with all the new tech.”

“False bravado. Humans have so much of it,” Lachesis says. “Others have tried to change their Fate. What makes you think you’ll succeed where they’ve failed?” A smirk rests on her lips, like she’s the one with the upper hand, instead of the other way around.

It’s John who speaks. “We know better than to try.” He steps forward, pushing aside Sam and Dean to stand out in the open space between the crowd of people at the entryway and the Fate.

“One last chance,” Dean asks. “Put everything back, or we put you out of commission permanently.”

“Empty threats. You can’t kill us. You forget we’re goddesses. And no one can escape their fate, not even Winchesters.”

John smiles then, his entire stance relaxing. “That’s where you’re wrong. My sons have perfected the art of outwitting fate and destiny.” He leans forward and says in a quiet, steely voice, “And I’ve learned a lot from them in the past week.” He’s fast, incredibly fast, but he doesn’t need to be, bound as the Fate is. He whips the knife forward and guts her from collar down to her waist. Her head thrusts back in a silent scream, and Dean, Cas and Sam turn, whipping their arms out around their friends, forcing them face down to the ground. There’s a blinding flash of light, a wave of intense heat, and an inhuman screeching that bursts a few eardrums. The heat and sound go on for an eternity, but then silence descends like a curtain, followed by two great thuds.

Dean and Sam skitter to John’s side, ignoring the corpse of the Fate in favor of checking on their father. John’s supine on the ground, his face red and blistered, eyes blinking and unseeing. Somehow, the knife is still in his hand, the leather wrapping of the haft gone and the steel beneath melted into the tortured skin beneath.

“Cas? Cas!” Dean says, and Cas is there, kneeling beside him, laying a hand on John’s chest.

“No,” John says, his voice wrecked. “Don’t.” He can’t see anything, and his breathing is labored. Every movement is accompanied by intense white flashes of pain.

“I can heal you,” Cas whispers. “You don’t have to go.”

“Cas,” Dean says, pushing.

“Dean, Sam. No,” John says, His eyelids close and then open again, slowly, his face a rictus of pain. “I don’t belong. I could go...” He stops, because talking is difficult.

Dean looks at Cas. “Can you at least…” but before Dean finishes, Cas is nodding, his hand moving over John’s heart. He closes his eyes, and there’s a brief flash of light beneath his palm. Underneath, John’s breath evens out, the shuddering gone.

John opens his eyes again, and looks up at the three men, all of whom look down on him with worried expressions marring their faces, though his vision is blurred and damaged. There’s shuffling behind them as everyone else leaves the room, except for Jody, who kneels next to Sam, taking his hand in hers. John smiles, attempts bravado. “You boys did good.” He inhales, tries to breathe deeply, but there’s so much damage that he can’t. “You always do.” He’s fading fast. “I’m so proud of both of you.” He smiles, takes another breath, and then he’s gone.

They sit over John’s body for a long time, and then Dean rocks back on his heels and stands. He wipes his hand over his face, surprised to find that it’s a little damp. “We need…” his voice is cragged with emotion. He clears his throat. “We need to clean that up.” He waves at the spot on the library table where the Fate had been. All that was left of her was a pile of ash and a few stray golden threads. Sam nods, but it’s Jody and Cas who get up and begin the process of cleaning up the remnants of Fate. Sam and Dean cover up John’s body and go outside to build another pyre for their father.


	15. Epilogue

The next few weeks are quiet, thankfully. No people mysteriously reappearing from the dead, and those that had returned stayed. The numbers of strange, unexplained and random deaths reduced to their pre-Fate levels.

One sunny afternoon Sam finds Dean sitting on the ground near the makeshift marker they’d put down to mark John’s passing. Again. Sam sits next to Dean, and they sit together, not needing to talk, not really. Eventually, Sam clears his throat.

“Jody and I are gonna go away for a while. Take a vacation.” Sam picks up a fallen dandelion and fiddles with it between his thumb and forefinger. “I think we might look for a house.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, smiling. “Awesome. And a dog. You guys should get a dog.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, and a dog. If she wants one.”

“Just show her your sad face. She’ll do whatever you want,” Dean says. He looks at Sam. “You guys are good together. I ever tell you that?”

Sam shakes his head. “No. But you don’t have to.” Sam hesitates and then says. “You and Cas should think about the same thing.”

“What, get a dog? You know how I feel about dogs, Sam.” Dean thinks he might be able to handle a friendly mutt raised by Sam, but getting his own dog… definitely no. He has no good memories of dogs, all of the bad ones tending to keep him awake at night for weeks on end.

“No, a house. You can’t live in the bunker forever, it’s… it’s weird living underground like that.” Sam tosses the dandelion away.

Dean doesn’t agree. “Cas is there. It’s home, Sam. At least for now.”

Sam nods, thinking he maybe understands. “Someday?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and then he changes the subject. “We killed Fate, dude. Well, Dad did. Think that’s gonna come back to bite us in the ass?”

“Probably. This stuff usually does. Listen, about Dad…”

“Aw, are we going to talk about our feelings now?” Dean says, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Sam forges ahead. “I think he kind of saw it, at the end there.”

“Saw what? The light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Shut up, Dean. Just listen. I think he saw what you and Cas have. It’s kind of hard to miss, you know. It’s special, you know that, right?”

Dean stares at the ground. “Dude, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” He hates this, he hates talking about stuff like this with his baby brother, and he hates sharing anything. But the warm, satisfied feeling that settles inside when he thinks about Cas and what they have? That he loves. He can put up with a few uncomfortable moments with his brother if he gets to keep that feeling.  And while it hurts that John maybe didn’t fully accept who he was, Dean thinks he knows what Sam means. He thinks that John did begin to understand about Cas and what they have.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asks, and the question has weight to it - not just about Sam leaving to live with Jody, or Dean living in the bunker with Cas, but all of it. Dealing with seeing his father die – _again_ – having the deaths of Barnes and Damien weighing on him now too, the list goes on and on. But he hears the flutter of wings behind them, and Cas comes to sit next to him, his warm thigh resting against Dean’s, the deep gravelly voice saying, “Hello, Dean,” in his ear. Dean realizes that the things that hold him up are much stronger than those that hold him down.

“Yeah, Sam, I am.” Dean takes Cas’s hand, and Cas leans over to kiss him. Sam gets up and leaves them there, sitting with barely any space between them, hand in hand.


End file.
